Onceler
by takocos
Summary: Inspired by tumblr, the new movie, the old cartoon, and, of course, the book
1. Chapter 1

How many times had he woken up like this? The bed was in shambles- he didn't know the name of the girl in it, even though he knew he had heard it a million times- she was in the fucking ad-spot yesterday… Goddamn it. The alarm- why the fuck was the alarm still going? Didn't it know that he had a massive headache pounding at every sound? He slid his arm over everything, not daring to open his eyes to the light that he knew would blind him, knocking things from the nightstand until he found, and silenced the source of the noise.

Alright. Gotta get up. 9:00am meeting with the art department over the photo-shoot from yesterday- 10:00am photo-op with some charity, an orphanage that needed to keep the kids warm or something, 11:00- FUCK what was going on at 11? Something important… He'd figure it out at the office. He'd overslept, somehow, and sitting here was eating away more and more time. He got up, and stumbled to the shower, cursing at his delay as he did.

There was a time when he would get up, make some pancakes, read or knit or something, and lounge until midday when he finally went to make his sales pitch. It hadn't been like that for a long time. Now he had to rush- everything, always frantic, always demanding more and more time, and time, he had realized, really was money. You had to put every waking second into the business, or it would fail. If you wanted it to grow, you had to just throw time at it.

There was already a dress shirt and pants laid out for him. He didn't remember doing it, but whatever, it was done. He slipped into them, brushed his teeth, and realized that, once again, he wouldn't have time for breakfast. As he sat back down on the bed to slip on his socks and shoes, the girl awoke.

"What time is it?" She asked in a panic.

He glanced at the clock, "It's about," he signed, "8:40."

"Fuck!" She spat and threw off the blanket, "I've got to be at the agency at 9:00!"

"Relax, baby," he sighed, buttoning a green, striped jacket, and pulling out a cigarette case. He opened it, reveling in his own face etched on the silver, "You need a thneed."

He offered her a cigar made from the same plant as his own marvelous invention. One of the many uses of the wonder plant was that smoking it produced a relaxing effect- and smelled amazing- it was one of the only ways he could get through his increasingly stressful days.

"I'll call you a limo," he added, lighting the one she had between her lips and then his own. She didn't respond- she had hastily dressed- in the short time it took him to utter that sentence, and was already heading outside. He sighed and proceeded to keep his promise, dialing for transportation for her- and deciding whether or not it was worth walking the 20 feet to his office past the folk who were protesting the "deforestation". It probably wasn't. The last thing he needed was some paparazzi leech snapping a picture of him being pelted with tomatoes or some stupid shit.

What the fuck was wrong with some people? They had nothing to bitch about- just wanted the limelight. The company was reseeding, it wasn't hurting the forest, it was supplying over 100,000 jobs- but there were always people in the world who just couldn't wait to destroy the success of others. It was human nature- jealousy, greed, and the like. But he really didn't want to deal with them today, so he arranged a car to come and pick him up, as well.

He took a long draw and blew a billow of smoke. It was going to be a long day. They all seemed long anymore.

He grabbed his hat and headed out the door.

"Mr Once-ler," his assistant was upon him the second he stepped out of the elevator.

"It's 8:59," he slid a gold watch back into his pocket, "Schedule, fast, let's go."

"Your 9 o'clock is here with the magazine proofs for you to sign off on," she rattled as she handed him his coffee, "You've got the photo-op in GreenVille at 10:00- warmth for orphans, we've got security standing by to escort you. At 11, you've got a meeting with the business beuro to talk about the buyout, at 12 you've got a lunch meeting with the head of the logging union, at 1:00-"

"I can't do a lunch meeting," he interrupted as they came upon the conference room, "I was supposed to do something else, I looked over it yesterday."

"You had nothing scheduled for noon, you were just going to eat with Norma, I rescheduled it, because you have a lot to deal with today,"

"Alright, what's going on at 1:00?"

"You've got to meet with the engineers about mechanizing the spinning, then directly after that you have to meet with the workers who will be downsized when we switch to mechanization. At 3:00, you've got to do employee reviews for your managerial staff, which, I won't lie to you, is going to take a few hours, because you went on and on yesterday about inefficiency and how you need restructuring, but at 5:00, your mother was very insistent that she get to see you, so I went ahead and scheduled her in. I thought that if you weren't finished you could bump her back."

"Must be nice to be able to think that," Once drowned his coffee in one gulp, "Get me another of these, will you?"

He lit another cigar off the dieing embers of the last one and tossed the discarded butt into a near-by garbage shoot before stepping into the conference room.

6:00- exhausted, the Once-ler slumped over his ornate desk, made of the truffila wood that he so loved, and tried to finally slow down enough to breath. He had his hat slung over the back of his chair, he had just signed a $20,000 check to get his mom a table at some fancy-ass charity dinner and promised he would be there, even though he had already forgotten what the charity was, and he knew she didn't give a damn- it was just somewhere to be seen.

Just take a second to breath, then he could get up and drown the stress, in whatever way first came to mind. One thing he had learned was that when you had the kind of money he had, you could honestly do anything you wanted. And with all the side-buisnesses he was opening, he more or less owned all of GreenVille. He needed to get working on the plans for that place- he was slowly buying up the land to turn into a sort of Utopian city-state, but he had been so drained lately that he just didn't have the energy.

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a box of the truffila cigars, opened his case and began to refill it. That done, he took a last one, put it to his lips, and lit it. The match had just gone out when he heard an annoying voice ask,

"Are you smokin now, beanpole?"

"Yes," he hissed, and spun his chair around, "I'm smoking. What do you care?"

"Why does it smell like truffila tuffs?" A smallish creature in oranges and browns was standing at the double-door entrance to the giant balcony that overlooked the land the Once-ler owned.

"Why do you smell like," the man paused, "Hey you seriously do smell terrible. I'm not even making fun of you- why do you smell like that?"

"Have you been outside?" the Lorax shouted.

"Not today- look, mustache, I'm tired. Can you please bitch about whatever you're gonna bitch about and let me rest?" Once-ler took a long, deep drag from his cigar and closed his eyes, leaning against the chair, the only chair he'd ever had that he _could_ lean into, normally he was to tall, he toppled or overshot the back completely.

"Have you heard any swammy swans singing?" the Lorax asked.

"I don't know," Once-ler had expected to sound confident and uncaring, but it came out whiny, "I have more important things to think about then birds, mustache."

"They're dieing." He said it simply, concisely.

"What, the birds?" the Once-ler sat up, "Why? What happened?"

"What happened?" the Lorax shouted, "WHAT HAPPENED!" he marched up to the Once-ler and grabbed his wrist. He drug him to his feet, bent more then half over, and out onto the balcony, "LOOK!"

"Looks like rain," the Once-ler shrugged.

"RAIN!" the Lorax was growing more and more irritated, "Look, I speak for the trees, but I'm also in charge of the Swammy Swans."

"Are you?" he hit the apathy perfectly that time.

"Yes!" The creature hissed as the Once-ler blew a puff in his face, "And the smoke coming out of that factory is blacking out the sky. They can't fly. They can't catch fish. They can't raise their young. They are dieing."

"It's dark because the sun is setting." The Once-ler rolled his eyes, "There are always clouds in the sky. The factory doesn't make that much smoke- we just need to vent the dust and flakes and everything coming off the machinery, not to mention the wood-dust and the dander and whatnot. If we didn't vent it, it'd be stuck in the factory with the workers- that's 1: illegal and 2: inhumane."

"Inhumane? You're wiping out an entire species!" The Lorax shouted.

"There is no way that one man could kill an entire species," the Once-ler leaned against the railing of his balcony, "Look, mustache- over there in that clearing- I'm building something. I'm expanding the town. I'm helping people." He arched his eyebrows.

"Why do humans need more space?" The Lorax asked in horror- the opposite to the emotion Once-ler had expected.

"Because so many people have moved here to work for me," the Once-ler explained smiling, "Because I'm helping so many people. Paying them a living wage, giving them decent hours and a benefits package, donating to the school system so their children will grow up…" he grumbled, "Better then I did."

"This is a bad idea." The Lorax's voice was full of worry.

The Once-ler had tried to explain. He was dead tired, he was annoyed, he was being shot down, but he had tried to remain calm. But the fact that this little… thing couldn't understand all the good he was doing- snapped something inside him. And then he got mad. He got terribly mad.

"You think all my ideas are bad!" he snapped, "But they aren't! I'm the good guy here! I'm helping people! I'm this whole area's economic backbone! I have customers and followers and groupies! Everyone loves me! My family loves me! You are always trying to tear me down! Get the hell out of my office!"

"Get your office off my land!" The tiny monster countered.

"It's not your land!" the Once-ler yelled, infuriated.

And the phone rang.

"I need you out!" Once-ler shoved past the creature and headed back to his desk.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr Once-ler, your fiance is on line 1," his secretary's voice rang through the empty office as he pushed the call button.

He took a deep breath, ashed his cigar and left it in the tray, and replied, "Patch her through."

As he heard the line connect, his voice changed from the tired, raspy drag it had been to one of real warmth, "Are you ready for tonight, flower-pot?"

"Oncie? What happened? Where were you today?"

"At lunch? I had a last-minute meeting with the head of the lumberjack union- Funtzler was supposed to tell you. Didn't she tell you? I swear if that woman hurt you, Norma, she's fired so fast her cheap weave'll spin."

"Oncie- it's not that important. I just thought you forgot."

"It is important!" he felt the edge rise in his voice that he tried to keep out when he spoke to her, "It's… very important. We barely get to spend any time together, I don't want you thinking I stood you up. I promise I'll be there at 7:00 to take you to the grand opening of the theater, though. I'm just putting together a sketch for my next venture- it's gonna be a resort, like a combination ski lodge/beach/park thing. We're gonna rig it up with fans and air conditioning and heat lamps- and there's gonna be discounts for employees, and- you're gonna love it flowerpot."

"You're going to have time to work that out before you come over here? It's 6:30 right now."

"Apparently I'm not finishing that tonight," he sighed, and glared at the balcony, where the round bundle of fur stood, glaring back at him, "I'll leave right now. I'm just gonna get my coat and hat and I'll be right there."

"Oncie, if you don't have time," she began.

"No! No!" He cut her off, "I mean, I would have to go anyway, I have to be at the opening, I built the place. I'll see you in a minute, Flower-pot. Love you."

"You!" The Once-ler stormed to his balcony, cigar back in hand, "You put me behind schedule! You come in here- almost every day, with some kind of stupid shit trying to rain on my parade. 'The birds are dieing'. 'The air is bad'. 'I don't like that you're building schools'. 'Humans don't deserve to expand'. I should have pounded you into the ground when I had the chance!"

He instinctively brought his hand up to cover a coughing fit. As it subsided, he took another long draw, feeling the smoke coat the back of his throat, feeling the intoxicant run through his brain and edge his nerves into submission.

"You sound sick, beanpole." The Lorax said with genuine concern, "Sure that's real good for it."

"I thought you were going to say, 'I should have drowned you when I had the chance'," The Once-ler countered.

"Eh, it doesn't work that way," the little monster replied, shrugging. And suddenly, he was gone.

Norma stared at the receiver. She, honestly, had no desire to go to the opening. Oncie would be distracted all night dealing with little details at the reception, his mother would be there, hounding him and judging her- saying those little passive-aggressive things like, "Oh, I hope the photographer can get you both in frame," or, "Oncie, darlin, let's get a picture of you by yourself for the cover,". She made no attempt to hide her disgust with the girl- her arrogance that she felt Oncie should be dating someone closer to his 'status'.

How Norma despised that woman. She treated all three of her children more like pets- pets that she only kept as status symbols. Oncie's brothers weren't nearly as intelligent then he was- voluntary stupidity, Norma winced, but still, they did try. They stood by their older brother, acted as his security, and genuinely were appreciative of the things he did for them. She couldn't keep herself from liking them. They were always as gentlemanly as their harsh mannerisms and simple upbringing allowed them to be, and were as overprotective of her as if she were their sister. They had even taken to calling her "sis" in a way that made Oncie flush a bright red, making him look ridiculous in his over-the top suits. But he had to be flamboyant- he was a fashion designer.

But the idea of spending the evening overshadowed by his work, yet again, while his mother took the occasion to see how many subtle barbs she could get in in that fake, sickeningly saccharin voice of hers… almost made Norma, a small-town, intelligent, independent girl, want to go full trailer park on her. But she wouldn't. Because she was better then that, and because her man, despite his humble beginnings, was better then that to. After all, beautiful flowers grow out of dirt.

She finished arranging her hair as her mother beamed at the limo that had pulled up in front of their house. The twins stepped from the car and stood on either side as Once-ler moved between them, his glasses saving his bloodshot eyes from the dozens of flash-bulbs that surrounded him. No one asked any questions, everyone seemed content to get the best picture possible. He moved with purpose, bowing to her mother, and taking Norma's arm in the most gentlemanly, tender fashion possible. His mother may have been right about the difficulty of getting them both in frame. She was lucky, in her heels, to come up to the middle of his chest. The flash-bulbs went off by the dozen as Once-ler smiled and struck poses that seemed effortless, poses that she had seen him rehearsing since the day he first arrived in Greenville.

They piled back into the car, and Once-ler slid his glasses over his hat.

"Paparazzi," he sighed, and offered Norma a cigar.

She took it, and he wrapped his long arms around her and snuggled into her hair.

"Once-ler!" his mother snapped him out of the first genuinely happy moment he had had all day, "Are you insane? Don't flatten those curls. She needs her hair to be high- there's already a… a height discrepancy."

"It's nice to see you, Suzette," Norma said through clenched teeth as sweetly as possible.

"Oh, don't you just look like a perfect little doll!" his mother said, invading the girl's personal space, aligning her auburn curls so that they fell along either side of her face, "Got the thneed from the new line in it's belt formation and everything!"

"Hey Chet," Once-ler's voice cracked, "Why don't you hand me- me and Norma a drink outta the fridge there? You want something to drink, honey? Let me get you something to drink."

"Oh, Bret. Make your mamma a Southern Sour, hon. Not to strong. Just a little eye-opener." She practically sang.

"I'm Chet," her son sighed, "And, I don't see no lemons in here, ma."

Norma looked at her boyfriend, who looked like he desperately wanted to bury his face in his hands. She had no idea what a 'southern sour' was. But it was not lost on her that the boy was making his mother's drink first. Oncie reached into the open fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. He poured a glass for Norma, then started to pour himself a glass, shrugged, and took a long drink strait from the bottle.

"Once-ler!" his mother snapped at him, then turned her attention back to Chet, "That's alright hon- just make sure you use the _diet_ soda. We can't all have your brother's high metabolism."

"Let me out of this car," Once-ler whispered quietly, in Norma's ear, and she held her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, "They can't trail us all night." He took another drink.

"Oncie! Use a glass!" his mother scolded as she gingerly sipped the clear liquid her son handed her, "People will think you wouldn't raised right."

Norma tried as hard as she could, and succeeded in stifling her laughter, though a sly smile crept across her face.

"I just wanted a drink," he explained, re-corked the bottle, and sat it back in the fridge.

"Oncie," there was a hint of a whine in her voice that just set Norma's nerves on edge, "You are very successful now. Everything you do reflects on the_company._"

Bret, who was sitting on the opposite side of the car, and therefore, out of her range of vision mouthed, "_and your mama_."

Norma tried so hard not to laugh that it must have given her a very sour face indeed, because Suzette put a hand in her lap and made at attempt to reassure her, "Oh not _you_, hon. I'm talkin' about his table manners."

Once-ler looked nervously from his mother to his girlfriend, sweating under his suit. Luckily, at that moment, the door opened and Chet, the closest to it, stepped out. Once-ler took hold of Norma's arm and rescued her from the situation in a graceful exit, pulling down his sunglasses, despite the hour of the night, and sauntering gracefully down a red carpet, shortening his long stride so that she could fall in step.


	3. Chapter 3

The red ribbon had been cut in front the adoring photographers, Suzette, ever the master of staying in frame, had used her height and general attention whorish body language to overshadow everyone except her son, and that was only because even she couldn't compete with an emerald-green suit jacket and a top hat on a man who was already ridiculously tall. The theater was part of the project for education, and was built into a school for the arts. As a result, the girls on stage had swooned over Once-ler as he waded past them to his balcony seat, and Norma and his mother, for once, wore matching scowls. He had allowed his mother the seat closest to the action, and sat behind her with Norma and his brother Bret.

"What the hell are we watchin, Once?" Bret has his arms crossed- obviously bored out of his mind.

"How should I know? Somethin... cultured, I guess."

"It's borin as hell. Bunch 'o little twig girls jumpin and spinnin and shit."

"Yeah..." Once-ler replied.

"Will you boys hush!" Their mother turned to snap at them, "I am tryin to take in the refinement of this evening- and y'hall are makin it damn near impossible. Now Once, is there a lobby in this place? How do we get drinks?"

"Yeah, but there are ushers who will bring you stuff. There's a bar. Want me to go order you something?" Once asked.

"You? Oh, no, hon, you'd get swamped. _Chet_, go get your mamma a whiskey sour, and whatever your big, successful brother wants."

"Yeah," Bret agreed, "This might be better if we get shitfaced."

"Not you!" She hissed, "Oncie."

"I don't want anything... Wait, yeah, get some champagne for Norma."

"Anything else, boss?" His brother asked with a laugh.

"Don't be a dick," Oncie rolled his eyes.

"I'm just fuckin' with ya," Chet laughed, and punched his brother playfully in the arm.

"Chet!" His mamma scolded, "I swear! You boys act like you got some sense _right now!_"

Once-ler smoothed his jacket where Chet had punched him, and turned to gaze at Norma. Her expression made him jump. She was glaring at him, staring daggers through him. He smiled sheepishly, that 'I'm-sorry-there's-nothing-I-can-do' look that she had come to know so well. He took off his top-hat and held it awkwardly in his lap, until he felt her hand come to rest on top of his. She squeezed, wrapping her fingers around his palm, and he squeezed back. She leaned into his chest, and he felt his heart quicken.

Suddenly, it was all alright. His mother and the boring atmosphere faded into the background, and all he had to occupy his head was the warmth of her body, the welcome weight of her touch as she leaned into him, the sweet smell of the perfume she wore- the same made by his company- she smelled like food... like marshmallows and butterfly milk. It was intoxicating. He ignored his mother's earlier warning and wrapped one long arm around her, and rested his chin on her bouncy, auburn curls. Happiness enveloped him like a blanket, and he was content, to sit in that warm embrace, for the rest of his life.

Unfortunately, he was snapped out of his joy when his brother returned.

"Here's your booze, Once," He said unceremoniously, handing him a glass. He threw a bottle to Chet, then took a seat next to his mother.

The Once-ler stared at his hand, at the empty glass, before he noticed that someone had followed Bret, and was pouring Norma a glass of champagne. He carried a small bucket on a stick, which was filled with ice, and after he had filled Once-ler's glass, he re-corked the bottle and sat it back in the container.

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Once-ler?" He asked. Once shook his head, dug in his pocket, and handed the young man the first bill he came to without looking at it.

"Chet," Once whispered to his brother as quietly as possible, eliciting a raised eye-brow and a curious glance, "Do you guys think it'd be ok if you took mom home and I got Norma and me a private limo?"

"We'll try our damnedest," the grin he gave his brother made him turn red under his green jacket. Bret poked his twin and whispered something to him, they both giggled.

"Boys!" Their mother snapped again, and Norma rolled her eyes.

The moonlight filtered through the clouds, casting a romantic, diffused light over the valley as Once-ler and Norma strode slowly alongside the river, listening to the gentle humming of the fish. Norma held to her man's arm, finally content to be away from his family, his business, his worries, back in the natural splendor where they had always been the most at home.

He picked a flower and toyed with it, slowly, nervously, tearing off the petals one-by-one.

"I am so sorry about tonight, flower-pot. I know you don't like being around my ma... And I know that she gets on your nerves... I just... I don't know what to do about it. She's my ma."

"Do you remember the first time I caught you knitting?" Norma asked, "With your back against that tree right there?" She slumped down against it, the rear of her fancy dress on the dirt, "And you jumped a mile as if I had caught you doing something terrible?"

He laughed and slid down beside her, "Well... in my defense, you scared the bejezzes out of me, sneaking up on a man in a bear-infested forest, and... everyone always made fun of me for knitting. But it's relaxing. Keeps the sanity from slipping when you're stuck in the middle of nowhere with no one and nothing," he put an arm around her, flipped his hat off and sat it down, "Because that's what it was like before you found me, flower-pot. Before you saved me. No had ever... believed in me before."

She reached up to stroke his cheek- his adorable, baby-face turned a shade of pink as she did.

"I do believe in you, Oncie. Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't amazing. Look at what you've done, how many people you've helped. The day I met you, singing in that gazebo, I knew that there was something special about you."

"Special?" He asked, staring into those deep, dark pools she called eyes.

"Oh yes," She laughed, "And that's when I knew I had to scoop you up before someone else did. While you were still in the 'cute and bumbling' phase."

"I'm not cute and bumbling anymore?" He asked, trying to play coy, but his voice shook as much as his body. Norma laughed. All the money in the world couldn't hide his insecurity. He was still the simple country boy she had fallen in love with. You could slap an expensive suit on him, but a new cover didn't change what was inside the book. She laughed at him and he blushed. He tried to turn his face away, but she strengthened her grip and pulled him down, into her.

His eyes widened as she ran her tongue along his bottom lip, silently begging for the entry that he instantly gave her. She pulled him tighter, wrapping her arms around his neck, sliding underneath his nimble frame as he returned every loving stroke, losing himself in the kiss, in the embrace, running his gloved fingers through her soft hair, down her back as she arched up to meet him.

He broke away first, his voice shaking as he tried to keep from collapsing on top of her, "F-flower-pot, are you sure," he took a deep breath, "Are you sure you want to- do this?"

"Oh Oncie, how can such a big successful businessman, who has to fight off those pretty little ballerinas and models and gold-diggers still be so shy?" she asked, her plump arms around him as he tried to pretend he wasn't watching her breasts rise and fall, her waist made tinier by the thneed she still had wrapped around it.

He was blood red, "No I- meant- out here- in the... open... won't your new dress get dirty?" he fumbled with his words.

She pulled him down into another long kiss, he fell to his elbows, then gave up, and let himself fall, let their bodies meld together completely in the embrace. When he pulled away, the embarrassed farm boy look had been replaced with one more sinister, more confident, happiness and love oozing into the air through his very pours.

"I'll buy you a new one," he said, untying the thneed that was in his way.

Norma laughed her hearty, life-affirming laugh, and expertly tore through the expensive gold-buttons keeping the suit-jacket in place. He slung it off in one smooth motion without stopping his work on the thneed. He was rolling it up and pinning it into it's pillow formation before he slipped it under his lover's head. The gloves came off with the jacket- they had, after all, been covering the sleeves, and he was left in the dress-shirt, suspenders, and pants that Norma viewed as still being in her way.

"You wear far to many buttons, Oncie," she whispered.

He blushed, and moved to his knees, "Well..." he hesitated, "You um... wear far to many petticoats." and she giggled as he disappeared beneath them. He made his way slowly, kissing, licking, and occasionally biting ever so gently until he came to the object he had been seeking. He moved up ever so slightly, kissing at her belly button, and then down the arch until he came to the tie that was keeping her bloomers in place. With his hands on either thigh, she opened up for him as he undid the ribbon with his teeth and pulled the entire contraption down.

He heard her moan as he flung them aside with his jacket and went back to what he was doing. She moaned his name as he gently pried her open with his fingers, the same skill that he had with the guitar, with the knitting needles and the drafting pencil, searching for the spot she had shown him their first time together, working gently inside her until he felt that tension, that involuntary jerk- then he went to work with his tongue as well, running it over the knob that drove her mad, his other arm in a death grip on her thigh, her skirt riding up, but still completely covering his face as her own contorted into a look of ecstasy. She arched her knees over his shoulders with her thighs pressed so close together against his head that he was blinded and deafened to the outside world. The only thing that existed was her- the only sounds were her ragged breathing, her moans of joy, the way she said his name- and suddenly, a scream.

"Oh shit!" he jerked up instantly, "Norma! Are you ok? Did I hurt you?"

And then, a flashbulb. She screamed again.

"What the?" The Once-ler turned, and the flash went off again, right in his eyes.

"No!" Norma shouted, "My dad is gonna kill me!"

One more shot, and then the sound of film rewinding. The Once-ler jumped to his feet, "What the FUCK do you think you're doing?" he shouted at the man, who was still crouching underneath a bush, yet who's features he couldn't make out because of the dots lining his vision.

"Breaking the bank," the man replied, and hastily dropped the roll into his pocket as he fumbled to reload as quickly as possible.

"Give me that film!" Once-ler demanded. Tears were streaming down Norma's face as she struggled to re-tie her underwear.

"Are you insane?" the man asked, and snapped another picture as the Once-ler held up his arm to shield his face.

"Give me that film!" The Once-ler repeated, and grabbed at the man's jacket, searching for it.

"Kick his ass, Oncie!" Norma encouraged, now dressed again.

The man struggled back, not as tall as the Once-ler but twice as thick, and Norma took the opportunity to latch onto his camera.

"You crazy bitch!" The man shouted, unsure which way to turn- save the jacket, and his film, or save the camera.

That was all it took for Once-ler. He landed a blow on the side of the man's head that sent him reeling. The camera that Norma still held was ripped from her arms to land against his chest with a thud, following the strap. Onceie straddled him, trying to go through his pockets, but the man managed to knee him, hard in the ribs. Oncie fell and rolled forward, but as a country boy used to roughhousing with two brothers, he was back on his feet and saw the direction he had run. His stride was easily longer then the photographers, and he caught up to him as Norma followed behind, trying to run in her heels.

"OK, you fuck with my woman," Once-ler said as he managed to grab the man by the shoulder, "Now this is happening!" He jerked the camera, painfully breaking the clasp of the strap around the man's neck and leaving a rope burn, and threw it into the river. The rapids picked it up and carried it away, but not before the two men watched it smash to pieces on the rocks.

"Now," Once-ler growled, holding the man by his jacket, "Give me the film- or it's gonna be you smashed to hell against those rocks."

"You gonna kill me, Once-ler?" the man asked, "You think you can get away with it? Why? Because you got the money?"

Once-ler was beyond angry. His vision was tinted with shades of red. He shook the man, jerked him, caught him off guard, and headed toward the river. It was suddenly so clear, all of it. He was suddenly moving with purpose. This change in attitude was not lost on the hapless photographer, who began to flail.

"Alright!" he screamed, "Alright! I'll give you the film! I'll give it to you!"

Norma had caught up and was standing up the bank as the man handed Once-ler a roll of film.

"And your wallet!" Once-ler hissed.

"You robbin' me?" The man asked in alarm.

"No. I want to know your name."

That was apparently more then the man could handle, he managed to shrug off the Once-ler's grip, and ran back in the direction of the town. They let him go, but the Once-ler stood there, fuming, anger seeping from him so strongly that the atmosphere reeked of it, and Norma realized, for the first time, that real anger, real issues lie under the surface of the man she loved.

He turned to her, and ran a hand through his hair, moist with the sweat he had worked up during the chase.

"So..." he asked in his characteristically dopey way, blushing and unable to meet her eye, "The uh... mood ruined now?"

"You're right," she smiled, as all the malice from before had melted from him, "Maybe we should go back to your place. I might get my dress dirty out here. Or you," she kissed him on the cheek, "Might get your hands dirty."


	4. Chapter 4

"Once! Once!"

Once-ler turned over in his sleep, "I set the alarm, baby, we're ok."

"No, Once! It's me, Bret!"

"Just make some cereal, I'll make you guys some pancakes when I get up. Watch some cartoons or something. Give me some more time." He pulled the blanket over his head.

"Once! Wake up!"

"Make Ubb do it," he mumbled.

Suddenly, he felt himself being picked up, and fiercely shaken.

"GET THE FUCK UP, ONCE!" his brother's tone was panicky.

"I'm up! I'm up! What? What's going on!"

"Did Norma leave last night?"

"Bret. Put me down."

"DID NORMA LEAVE LAST NIGHT!"

"Yeah, she had to work at the book store today, she went home."

"Good. Then I can KICK YOUR ASS!" he said as he threw his brother against the wall.

"Bret, what the hell!" Once was certainly awake now, instantly to his feet, and leaning, glaring over the bed. He glanced at the clock, "IT'S 7 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING! WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE CHUCKING ME AT WALLS!"

"Because I think ya' oughta be roughed up a little so Norma can beat yo' ass properly!" Bret his his brother over the head, hard with a rolled-up newspaper, then let it fall to the bed, "She's little. She needs all the help she can get."

On the front page was the headline, "Once-Sluts" followed by a photo of him buried under Norma's dress, her face contorted in orgasm.

"Oh shit," Once-ler grabbed his hair with one hand and the paper in the other.

"Open it," Bret commanded, and his brother obeyed.

"Oh shit. Oh shit." Once repeated as he opened the paper to find a photo collage- not just Norma, but every model, every actress, every ballerina- "Oh shit fuck goddamn!"

Bret picked up a book from his brother's bedside table and beamed him with it. Once-ler went down, his face in the paper, still swearing, and then began bashing his head against the mattress, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

"What the hell, Once?"

"What the hell, Bret! Stop hitting me with things! Let's... be solution oriented. Maybe she hasn't seen it."

"How the hell you gonna cheat on a gal like Norma!" There was anger in Bret's voice and his brother turned to him. There was a look of real anger in his eyes.

"You... really like her, don't you?" he asked, and Bret noticed the tears in his eyes.

"Yeah- we- Ubb and Chet and me, we all like her. She's _good_ for you. She keeps your big-ass head out of the clouds with this gay fashion shit. You got money, she got smarts. You done good with that first thneed, but you ain't got a clue how to manage money. Plus, she looks fuckin' good. Why you throwin' that away?"

Once grabbed the iron bracing at the foot of the bed and slammed his head into it in a child-like tantrum, "BECAUSE I'M A DUMBASS!" he screamed, accenting every word with a bang to his forehead.

"Bret," he had a red streak that was becoming a bruise when he raised his head to look at his brother, "I got nothin... What would you do if you had supermodels just- _throwin_ themselves at you? What would you do!"

"With a girl like Norma?"

"The _truth_," Once hissed.

"Yeah, ok..." his brother sighed and sat down on the bed, "You never did have no self-control- you used ta eat whole bags o marshmallows- but... Norm's- she's gonna kill ya. And she's got every right."

"Where are mom and Chet? Why aren't they here, gloating and beating?" Once was resting his head against the iron.

"Chet's trying to keep her from seein." Bret replied, taking the paper and leafing through it, "We figured you didn't need her on top o it."

"Thanks."

"So- whatcha gonna do?"

"What the fuck should I do?"

Bret shrugged.

"I'm gonna call O'Shutzler," Once-ler's head suddenly jerked up and he groped past his brother, for the phone, "She's the head of PR, she'll know what to do. Go make me some coffee."

"Make your own fuckin' coffee- I ain't your slave."

"Please, Bret? I'm havin a shitty day already."

Bret rolled his eyes and headed toward the kitchen.

Both brothers were dressed and sitting at a table in Once-ler's boardroom. Once-ler in his neon green, his brother in an understated black. The rest of his family had still not come around, and the 8:00 hour had just struck, giving him a fleeting hope.

"Alright, Mr. Once-ler," O'Shutzler sighed, "I've got the kids working on deflating these rumors- your luck is that hardly any-one reads printed media at all anymore, and they're working defacing the bloggers and whatnot. Most of these pictures are just of girls walking away or getting into cars looking ruffled- that can easily be denied," she nodded in the direction of a man in a suit, obviously from the legal department, "But this Norma Wiggins- there's an entire photo-set of the two of you. That's going to be a little more difficult."

Once had his face in his hands, the blood hadn't left it since he realized that the entire town, and with the internet, probably the entire world, had seen them... compromised. Without looking up, he asked, "Well, what are we going to do?"

"Fortunately, Ms. Wiggins and yourself are a known item, so... look, sir, I'm going to be honest, there's not a whole lot we can do. If you didn't want people taking pictures of you fucking your girlfriend, you shouldn't have been doing it outside with no security. What were you thinking? You're making my job very, very difficult."

"Hey!" Bret stepped in before Once could, "Don't talk about my fuckin' brother like that- he's not some brain-dead hick. He's the reason your scrawny ass has a job! You fix this shit!"

"Bret," Once sighed, "It's... It's fine. Can we?" He turned back to his PR rep, "Can we maybe pull the papers? Before Norma goes into work at 1:00? Is there any possibly that we could do that?"

"They refuse to pull or retract," the lawyer in the middle of the team replied, "We already started the slander suit, but we can't get it pulled before tomorrow at the earliest."

Once-ler slammed his hand on the table, "Tomorrow's not good enough! What the hell am I paying you people for!" his eyes glowed with intensity, "You! Interns!" he pointed at the youngest members of the group, who were not even sitting at the table, but in the chairs along the walls, "Get out there and buy up every copy of the paper you can find! Use your company cards! Get the IT people in here and tell them to take the spending limit off the company cards! Go! Now! Stop sitting there!"

He pulled out a cigar, and three lighters flew in his face from three different sets of hands. He inhaled along the one his brother held up and held his breath, trying to will his nerves to settle, but his hands shook and he let it out in a coughing fit.

The door opened, "Mr. Once-ler?"

"I'M IN A MEETING!" he yelled, every word a dagger.

"Yes sir, but there's a problem in the factory, and it can't wait- the run-off from the mechanization is... well, you should see it for yourself."

"Right now?" he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.

"Yes sir, legal may want to come to."

"BECAUSE I NEED THIS SHIT!" Once-ler literally screamed- his voice echoing through the factory, his fists pounding on the table. His brother stood behind him and pulled his chair out, and Once-ler stood to follow his assistant, "I'll be back. We have to fix this."

"If Norma calls, you patch her to me no matter what we're doing," he told her. She nodded and made a note to herself, before leading him to the newly mechanized spinning area. He stepped inside the giant room, and slipped. Bret helped him to his feet.

Everywhere, the used oil from the machines was dripping in small drops along the floor.

"We've had 5 reports of injuries today, sir. The amount of oil to keep the tuffs sleek and the machinery running is causing an overflow delay, if we use less, the gears stick, the tuffs are so soft that they are difficult to spin, even by hand, and for the machinery, they keep ripping apart and getting caught in the gears unless they're super-lubiricated. But if we keep them lubed at the level necesario for production, we have a work-place hazard."

Why hadn't he seen that in the design phase? He cursed himself. He should have realized that it was like spinning silk or angora- it puffed around the hand-spinners all the time. Why hadn't he foreseen that?

"Ok," he took a deep drag and suddenly realized that everything around him was immensely flammable, "I can fix this. We just need a drainage system running under the works- before it has a chance to drip on the assembly line floor. It's just a little oil, it's plant based, we can run it out through the river, out to sea, and it won't be a problem... Try to get it cleaned up for now, and I'll draw the plans up tonight. Don't stop production."

He heard her hip buzz.

"Mr. Once-ler?" he glanced at her. "It's Norma."

"I'm gonna take that in my office," The Once-ler spun on his heel and ran like a man running from a wild beast. His brother turned and walked slowly after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Norma had woken, dressed, and was reading a novel when her mother asked her to do a little shopping before she headed into work, since she would be out anyway. She thought nothing of it, a few trinkets, everyday items like soap and shampoo, that she could easily grab and then bring back either after lunch with Oncie, or after work.

But there was an odd aura in the village. All of GreenVille seemed to be keeping a respectable distance; people were shielding their mouths and whispering- she was a perceptive girl, it didn't take her long to pick up on it. But, she thought it must be something to do with what Oncie, and therefore what she, by extension was becoming. Gossip worthy. Rich and powerful. And it was true, she was wearing a new designer dress, and the latest Thneed protected her curls from bounces and frizz, but her boyfriend was a fashion designer- why if a lady was betrothed to a hunter, would she not expect to eat? She shrugged it off as jealousy, knowing that any other woman in the village would take her place if they could. She was just fortunate that she didn't have photographers crowding her every movement like Oncie did.

Yet.

She sighed at the realization.

What happened to the simple times, when he first arrived? When she would venture out in the valley to visit with a picnic basket, only to find him hand-washing his laundry in the river, or feeding junk food to forest animals- the barbaloots, bears that she had always been told were dangerous, would sit on his shoulders and come into his house. The guardian of the forest himself appeared before him- she would not have believed it had she not seen it with her own eyes, had she not spoken to it. There were legends of the creature, and it sat at his table eating pancakes.

She knew the girl who was checking her out- it was a small town after all, and they had gone to school together. But she wouldn't meet her eye, even after Norma had greeted her and gotten a somewhat sullen greeting in exchange.

Finally, after her items had all been scanned, and she reached out the money, the girl took her hand, and gazed up at her.

"You are so strong, Norma, to come out here like this." she said, with tears in her eyes, "I don't know that I could have done it. You were always strong. I looked up to you in school. I want you to know that, honey."

"I needed shampoo," Nora arched an eyebrow, "What are you talking about?"

"Honey," the girl's eyes widened, "You haven't seen it, have you?"

"I suppose not," Norma was never one to mince words.

The girl reached over the conveyer belt into the section where the magazines and tabloids were kept. Norma was not the kind of person to ever read those things, and didn't even glance at them. But this one was different. She looked down at the cover, and before she even saw the headline she recognized the picture.

No.

No, that wasn't possible. Once-ler had gotten the film, she had seen it- she had seen him take the camera and smash it, she had seen him pocket the film. How was that there? How was that in print? Had her parents seen it? Surely, her mother hadn't, or she would have said something.

Then, she saw the headline. _Once-Sluts_. She opened it. On the inside was a photo-spread- the 4 pictures that she remembered from the night before, along with a half-dozen others, women leaving Once-ler's apartment, or getting out of his limos, always with their hair and clothing mussed, with the look on their faces that she recognized from her own. She gripped the paper so hard that her knuckles turned white. Suddenly, it ripped down the middle. She wadded what was left up and held it in her hands, shredding it the way he had that flower. She picked up her bags and marched out of the store, back towards her house, with purpose.

"Hi, flower-pot," Once-ler picked up the phone even before his ass hit the seat.

"Once-ler," she was trying to keep the anger from her voice.

"You saw it?" his voice cracked and jumped.

"Once," she took a deep breath.

Bret entered the office, and Once made a shooing motion, but he stayed, just inside the door. Once glared at him, and he shrugged. Once held his hand again, making a rather more rude gesture that time, but Bret shrugged again. He wasn't leaving. He was, after all, just as nosy as he had always been.

"Is it true?" She asked.

He panicked. He had no idea what to do or say. If he told her- she would leave him. But he couldn't lie to Norma, she would figure him out. She deserved better. But he couldn't lose her.

"Of course it isn't true!" he blurted it all as one word.

"Then where did all these pictures come from?"

"OK, the pictures are real," he was trying to think fast, "But you know how those crazy bitches are! I'm being stalked, they literally throw themselves on top of me and try to steal my clothes! You've seen it happen! These paparazzi _leeches _are taking these pictures out of context and trying to ruin me! We've already got them sued!"

Bret was staring at him, eyes wide. Once shooed him out again, but he stood as stoically as ever.

"That's why," he continued, "The only one that you actually see me with is _you_. And I swear, flowerpot, I thought I had that film! I swear, I thought I had it."

His breath wouldn't come- there were tears in the corner of his eyes, "Can I... can I please see you? Please? Norma, you're all I've... you were the only one who ever... can I please see you?"

"What are we going to do, Oncie?" was her response.

She believed him.

She

believed

it.

He had never lied to anyone before, because he had assumed that he would be horrible at it. But he wasn't. He could lie. And people would believe it.

"Can we meet and talk about it? I'll send a car over for you- with me- in it, I mean. Can I please talk to you... and hold you... and try to figure it all out?"

"I don't know, Once..."

"I know you're upset... please? Please don't leave me here alone..." the tears in the corners of his eyes broke free and rolled down the side of his face.

"Alright, come pick me up," she sighed- she had to take care of him or he would fall apart, "But I don't want to go out- take me somewhere safe, somewhere where we can talk, away from the stalkers, away from your family."

"Thank you!" he was breathing heavily- he felt winded, like he had been in a fight, "I'll be right over, flowerpot, I'll call the car as soon as I hang up!"

"I love you, Oncie." It was a statement, but it didn't have her normal warmth behind it. There was a sadness lingering there that he didn't know how to take. It took his breath away, so he stumbled a few minutes for a response.

"I love you to, Norma," he matched her tone, without knowing why or how. How could she say something so great and make it sound like an accusation. He hung up the phone and slammed his head down on the desk.

"You lied to her."

"Shut up, Bret."

"Once-"

"SHUT UP!" his head shot up from the desk, fire in his eyes, "And stop questioning me!" he lit a cigar, threw on his hat and glasses, and marched toward his brother, "And judging me. If it weren't for me, you would still be a lumberjack for hire working your ass off and giving ma every cent you made! You OWE me." At this point, he was in his brother's face, huffing the cigar with twin trails of smoke escaping from either side of his lips, his blue eyes on fire, "NOW GO CALL MY GODDAMN CAR!"

"Once-" Bret tried again.

"GO!" his brother shouted, and he turned on his heel to do just that.

"Bad time, bean-pole?"

Once-ler turned to see the smallish, brownish monster standing at the open balcony door.

"How do you keep getting in here?" he asked, returning to his desk to ash the cigar in the overflowing tray.

"I'm a magical guardian of the forest. I go where I please."

"What do you want? I'm in the middle of something."

"That your little brother, right?" The Lorax asked, stepping inside the office.

"What do you want?" The Once-ler asked again, his ire up.

"Just never figured you for the kind to snap at your litter-mates."

"My litter- Christ, mustache, why are you here? I'm busy." He sat back in his chair, head in his hands.

"Come look at this," The Lorax commanded, jerking the man's wrist, hauling him to his feet, and out onto the balcony, once again.

"If it's fast," the Once-ler relented.

"What is that?" The Lorax asked, pointing.

"The river?" The Once-ler replied, confused; the creature had always known that the river was there.

"But why is it black? What is that schlopody-schlop?"

"That's just a little run-off from the factory, we had to wash it out of here." The Once-ler sighed, "Please, Mustache, I don't have time for this right now."

"What is it made of?" The Lorax paid the request no heed.

"The oil from the machinery," The Once-ler snapped, his annoyance moving to anger.

"That explains it." The Lorax sighed, "Oil and water don't mix, beanpole, it's gumming up the works, the river, the humming-fishes gills. They can't breath, they can't hum-"

"IT'S JUST A LITTLE OIL!" the Once-ler shouted, and shoved past the little orange fur-ball to go back into his office.

"It's killing the fish! It's poisoning the water!" he tried to plead.

"It is not," The Once-ler countered, "It's diluted- and I don't have time to talk to you about this right now. Come back sometime when I'm not so busy. I have to fix things with Norma."

And he slammed the door, leaving the little creature alone in the vast, dark office.


	6. Chapter 6

Norma hadn't told him that the reason she refused to go outside- anywhere in the town, was that slowly, one by one... she had been collecting them to. Photographers, journalists, people with microphones, jutting them in her face. She was suddenly the talk of the town, and as small as it was, it was getting bigger every day. People came for the factory jobs, but now people were beginning to come for the school- having a university brought students, and hipsters, and all the money their parents sent out, and students needed books, and food, and entertainment. Every day the city was biggering and biggering, and suddenly, everyone in the city-that-was-once-a-town knew her name.

And wanted to know- what? They only asked her about Once-ler, she was only famous because she was in a relationship with- who was she kidding- because she had slept with- the fashion mogul. It was insane. This entire thing was insane. How did he go from the cute farm boy who washed his clothes in the stream and hand-knitted with his back against a tree to this- celebrity? To a designer that was imitated, sought after, accosted by models and celebrities that she could never have hoped to compete with- was he only clinging to her because she got there first?

"Mr. Once-ler said he has no comment!" it was the rough voice of Once's brother Chet, standing guard at the door with his twin as Once marched into the house, and threw his arms around her before the door had had time to slam shut. He had his head buried in her shoulder, something he had to bend practically double to do. He dropped to his knees and pressed their bodies together, clutching her as if he were afraid she was going to float away.

"Why are these people following me?" he sobbed into her shoulder.

"Once?" She ran a hand through his dark hair, up under the hat.

"What changed?" He asked, still into her shoulder, "What's the difference? Why are there people following us so we can't even have a romantic night in the valley? We used- we used to sit under those trees and knit, and sing, and..." his voice came out a choked sob.

She shssed him gently, stroking his hair, "Come on, Oncie," she mewed, "Lets get out of here. Let's go hide."

"Mmmm," he muttered, before lifting his head. His glasses had been pushed to his forehead, but she could still make out a deep purple bruise there. His eyes were bloodshot. There were bags under them, and wrinkles already forming in his perfect skin. She held his face in her hands. He cringed and moved to his feet, pulled the hat down over the bruise, and slid his sunglasses over his blood-shot eyes. They piled into the car, Bret and Chet on either side shielding them from the crowd.

Once inside, his brothers took a seat opposite them, and slammed the doors. The tinted windows blocked the world outside, and Once-ler took the entire ride back with his face buried in Norma's shoulder, slumped over the seat, a tangle of long limbs and pain. They slipped into the factory from the garage, and started to go their separate ways. Before Norma could follow her man, Chet grabbed her by the arm.

"Norm," his eyes were pleading, "He's bad, hon, real bad. He went off on Bret- I ain't never seen him do that since we been in the world. I don't know what got into him, but he's bad off."

She nodded.

"I wouldn't blame ya," he went on, "But if you really do, ya know, love my brother, don't abandon 'im now. He needs ya. He's in a real bad way."

She rested a gentle hand over the one that clung to her sleeve, "I won't, Chet."

He grabbed her and pulled her into a forceful hug. Her eyes widened with surprise, but she returned it.

"Good luck, sis," he said, barely a whisper in her ear.

She had tears in her eyes when she pulled away.

By the time she had made it to the part of the factory where he lived, what he called the 'lurkim' because it lurched up through the middle on 4 floors like a princess's tower, he was already putting a kettle on the stove. He was shaking so bad that the liquid inside splashed and hissed as it hit the burner. She came behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

"I can't take this, flowerpot, I can't." he broke out.

"Oncie, you wanted to be famous." she reminded him in a small voice, "What did you think would happen?"

"I wanted the thneeds to be famous!" he countered, wrapping his hands around hers without turning around, "I didn't want to be an actor or a singer or anything like that, I just wanted to sell my thneeds because it would actually help people- you get one and you don't have to buy 1,000 different things. I just thought it was a good idea. And now, you hate me."

"I don't," she spun his small frame until she could look into his eyes, noticed that he still wore the glasses, and his hat, and removed both, "I don't hate you at all. I feel sorry for you, if anything."

"I don't know why I... did all those interviews and photo-shoots and..." he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, "Everything else. It isn't me. But I had to- for the business. I have to keep our name out there, keep it current, because it's not an invention anymore, it's a fashion, and fashion goes out of style if you don't keep up with it, if you don't pour your soul into it. If you don't spend every waking moment thinking about the GODDAMNED BUISNESS!"

He spun on the last word and fell into one of the chairs lining the table.

"And I can't let the business. fail, because that's all I am. I am the business. I am the thneed. The thneed is me," His eyes were crazy, "I think I might be going insane. I need a vacation- but I can't take one, because if I do, the business. will stop."

Norma pulled a chair up beside him and put her arms around him. She had been so angry, but it was impossible to stay angry at him as he was now, panicky, shaking, sobbing into his hands.

"They'll never leave us alone- well, they might leave you alone if you leave me. I know you want to."

"I'm not going to leave you."

She had said it so sternly, so simply, as if she were just stating a fact- _it's 72 degrees in here and I'm not __going to leave you-_ that it caused him to jerk to look at her. She was unbuttoning his jacket, and had it slipped off before he knew what was happening. Without the jacket, the hat, and those glasses, he looked more like her man again. The kettle sang, and she poured them each a cup of tea as he stared at her with bloodshot eyes, mixing his with milk, honey, and six sugars, mixing hers with less then half that, and then pulling herself back to his side as he sipped.

"Why?" he asked, finally.

"Why what, Oncie?" she countered, pulling him close.

"Why would you stay with me?" he was finally able to breath properly again, had finally stopped crying.

"Because someone has to," She sighed, "Because you're killing yourself, and you don't deserve that. Because you're a sweet, unrelentingly optimistic country bumpkin who has gotten himself into a situation that he doesn't know how to deal with. Because I love you."

"You love me," he mulled it over, "I love you to, Norma." he said it very seriously, "Even if I had never been successful, even if I hadn't found the truffila tuffs here- I would never have left. Because I found you."

"Now," she started, "We've both been worrying far to much about this newspaper nonsense. There have been reporters as long as there have been people, and they aren't leaving. From now on, we just need to understand that we shouldn't be doing anything that we shouldn't be doing out where people can see us."

He broke into a weak smile at that, and she kissed him on the cheek.

"Will you stay with me, flowerpot?" he asked suddenly, staring intently into her eyes.

"I suppose I could. I don't much feel like going in to work tomorrow," she sighed.

"No... I mean... will you stay with me, here, from now on?" he stared into his tea.

"Oncie," the thought suddenly dawned on her, "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Only if you want to," he was still looking into his tea, "And I'll get you whatever you want- a maid, a cook, anything..." he looked back up at her, "a... ring?"

"Oncie," her eyes were misty, then those dark pools began to overflow, "I think that may be the best idea you ever had."

"It's better then the thneed," he agreed, and she was upon him with such force that it knocked his chair to the ground. She planted a deep kiss, and he didn't try to get up.


	7. Chapter 7

His mother had been strangely silent about the whole affair. She had commented on the ring (saying it had to be a proper size and cut to reflect their status) and the date they had set (a proper engagement lasts at least a year) but she had remained steadfastly silent on the announcement itself. No congratulations, as were offered by his brothers and his uncle, no half-assed, passive aggressive barbs like from his aunt. She simply sipped her southern sour and fluttered her lids, and that was the end of it.

Once knew that was a bad sign. The only time his mother was ever genuinely speechless was when something completely horrible was brewing. The way she refused to talk about his father when he was near death. That brooding silence weighed upon her whenever she entered a room, and sucked all the life from it. But still, he didn't push it. He didn't want to be the catalyst that made that powder keg explode. Instead, he went on with his life.

Norma moved into the lurkim after the engagement was announced, publicly, and brought with her all the comforts of home that Once had been missing. He awoke to the smell of coffee and had a real breakfast before he started out, instead of a cigar and mouthwash. He drafted or knitted while she read or embroidered, watching terrible television and making fun of it. She read over expense reports with him at their kitchen table, rather then at his desk alone. And at night, she curled up in his arms as he drifted into a happy sleep.

Everything was going perfectly. He was finally happy. The thneeds were selling, production was up, his fiance- soon to be wife loved him, his family was happy, his workers were happy, his town was biggering and biggering... He sat at his desk overlooking the model he had put together of the town- it was being renamed- after him. They had wanted to go with Oncelerville, but he had rejected it. Like he had told Norma, he had no desire for fame. So he put forth the idea of Thneedville, and it had passed the ballot with resounding success. He was working on a new sign, similar to the Hollywood sign, that would announce the place's presence to the world. It was everything he had hoped for, a utopian city-state with the best schools, the best hospitals, the best roads, and the most modern technology- they would lead the world in technology- the perfect place for anyone interested in inventing or anything else for that matter, to grow up.

He smiled as he overlooked the model, adjusting buildings before he took it to the contractors, making sure that his perfect vision was just that- perfect. He took a long, satisfying drag on his cigar and covered his mouth to cough. He knew that he needed to quit smoking, but, you know, you only live Once. He laughed at his own pun. He'd buy a new lung if he needed it. He was sure you could buy anything.

"Whatcha doin', beanpole?" came a familiar voice.

"I've got a meeting with the contractors who are putting up the sign and overlooking the town's redesign in a little bit," he practically sang, "I'm working on the finishing touches."

"You're building more?" the creature's shoulders slumped, "Why? You haven't filled that hole deep down inside you already? How much more is it going to take?"

"Why are you in my office?" he turned in his chair.

"Well, I'm in charge of the trees," he began, but the Once-ler cut him off.

"And the swammy swans that can't handle a little exhaust," he spat, "And the humming fish that can't handle a little diluted oil. And the forest that can't handle a little thinning. So let me guess, you've got some fresh bullshit to bitch about today? What's wrong now? Grass not green enough for you? Water not wet enough? I need you out. Now."

"Why? Because I remind you that you broke your promise? Because I remind you of the man you used to be?"

"The man I used to be," The Once-ler rose to his feet, "Was nothing. He was a wimpy, delusional farm boy with more optimism then brains who happened to get lucky when he found this valley. He was bullied and mocked. He was a loser." he spread his arms, "But look at me now. The man I am now is a millionaire- a MULTImillionaire. I'm beloved- no one is going to throw fruit at me now. I'm respected. I have my thneeds, and my side-buisnesses, and the money just keeps rolling in, and progress just keeps moving foreword, and all is right with the world." He smiled and took a long drag from his cigar, "You understand that, mustache?"

"No," He said, his fur standing on end.

"Well, business is business and business must grow," The Once-ler turned back to his model, king of all he surveyed.

"Well... I'm also in charge of the brown barbaloots," The Lorax continued, "Who live exclusively on the truffila fruits. And with those machines of yours out there cutting all the trees down, there aren't enough truffula fruits to go round. They're starving."

"We aren't cutting through that fast," The Once-ler dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"Oh no?" The Lorax grabbed at his coat tails, "Come outside and see for yourself."

The Once-ler sighed and followed him onto the balcony. The land was clear, as far as the eye could see, except for one bundle of trees he had been saving, the place where he and Norma had first met.

"There are no trees here because it's being cleared for the factory and the town," he dismissed, "There are plenty on the other side of the valley."

"Where your logging crew is cutting right now?" The Lorax huffed.

The Once-ler narrowed his eyes, "Well what do you want me to do? Shut down production? Put 100,000 people out of work? Coat an entire town in poverty? This factory is the economic backbone of the whole city!"

"Something has to be done," The Lorax countered. "I can't tell you what to do, I speak for the trees-"

"TREES!" The Once-ler shouted, losing his composure, "You speak for the trees? Well I speak for man, and human necessities. And I'll tell you something, you Lorax- I'm figuring, on biggering and biggering and biggering and biggering!"

"But the animals! The trees! The natural order!" The Lorax followed him, and the Once-ler paused with his hand on the knob of the balcony door.

"Nature?" he slid his sunglasses up and stared at the Lorax, "Let me tell you something about nature. I've lived in nature all my life. _Nature_ is not kind- _nature _is not fair- _nature _doesn't _have_ no guardian. There's a principle of nature that every critter should know, called survival of the fittest, and this is how it goes: the animal that lives has to scratch and fight and punch, and the animal that doesn't- well the animal that doesn't, winds up someone else's lunch."

And he entered the office, closed the door behind him, and locked it. He didn't break stride as he opened the door to the reception area, where his brothers were standing.

"Hey, Bret, Chet," he ushered them into his office. "The Lorax says that the truffila fruit are getting to scarce and the barbaloots are starving."

"Don't shock me," Chet replied, "Like the deer when the wolves get to scarce. They run outta food and starve, unless you thin the herd."

Once blinked behind his glasses. He would have never thought of that. Not the best solution, probably, but at least a bullet and a trip to a furrier would be a better death then slow starvation.

"Bet ma would love a bear pelt," Bret added, "Lot you can do with that. Didn't you used to do leather braidin' from the deer pelts, Once."

"Yeah..." he admitted, his mind going back to the tiny bear, Pipsqueak, the time he thought they were going to attack him, only to win them over with marshmallows. Then the harsh words of his mother stung in his ears. He remembered when he was younger, they had had a rabbit hutch, chicken coop, cow pens... and her ever present warning every time he would pick up a doodle or a bunny and fall in love.

"Don't you get to attached to that thing, Oncie. It's not a pet."

"Might be great for Norma to," Bret continued, without noticing his brother was lost in thought.

"Nah," Once shook his head, "She doesn't wear fur. She doesn't like ma's fur. I don't know why... Whatever, yeah, we should thin out the barbaloots- but we're thinning them, not, you know, hunting them- adult males only."

"We know how ta' hunt, Once." Chet rolled his eyes at him, "So when? You gonna come with us?"

"Whenever... no... no I can't. I have to much work to do here- gotta get the town built and whatnot," once poured all his fake confidence into that voice, "If you find one that answers to the name of 'Pipsqueak' try and trap it alive. Bring it back to me."

They shrugged in unison and made affirmative noises before heading out. Once pushed the butt of his cigar, grounding it with all his energy, and glanced back at the door. The Lorax was still standing there, his face pressed to the glass with a look of horror and disbelief spread across it. Once turned his back to him, lit another cigar, and went back to working on his model.


	8. Chapter 8

He could feel the creature's eyes burning in the back of his head, and pulled his hat down tighter, as if to form a shield. But he still felt it. Then he heard it- a faint _click click click, like _the damn thing was knocking on the glass. _Click click click._ No- not the glass- the metal. _Click click click. _No- metal on metal. _Click click click_. Repetitive. A soothing pattern. He had heard it before, somewhere, and it always relaxed him. _Click click click._

Knitting needles. The sound of cheap aluminum needles hitting against each other. Strait stitch- there was no pause to shift over or under for a purl. _Click click click_. That was insane. There was no one knitting anywhere in the factory. That was all mechanized now. God, it would be nice, though, to be able to sit and knit for a few hours, to turn off his brain and see what his hands came up with. That repetitive, monotonous, meditative task- _click click click-_ where the FUCK was that coming from.

He spun in his chair, and gasped. He pulled off his glasses and stared. He put them back on, pulled them off again, and sat then on his desk along with the model. He really was going insane. There was a tall, lanky boy in gray sitting in his floor, overlooking the balcony, and knitting away with a pink ball of yarn, inconsistent and full of little fluffy barbs- hand-spun.

"Can I help you?" He asked with a twinge of hate in his voice.

"Mr. Once-ler?" the boy looked up, and the maddening clicking finally stopped as he pushed the stitches to the back of either needle so they wouldn't fall off if he stopped for a bit. Once recognized his blue eyes, his round baby-face, his skilled hands. He was going mad.

"Mr. Once-ler?" the apparition repeated, and stood, offering a hand. Once stared at it, then back up at the double. His illusion smiled in an optimistic, child-like way.

"I need..." Once began, rummaging through his desk, and pulling out a bottle of vodka, "Psychiatric help."

"Nonsense," The boy walked to the other side of his desk and began playing with the buildings, "It's a good idea, every once and while, to sit down with yourself-"

"No. No it is not." Once took a long drink and replaced the cap, "Don't touch that. Who are you?"

"I'm the Once-ler," the boy smiled, "I speak for mankind and humanities needs. Looks like your factory keeps biggering and biggering is triggering more biggering."

"Yes," he replied, staring at the apparition as it lifted and looked at one of the buildings.

"Once-ler," he asked, "Why are you a Once-ler?"

"What?"

"Why are you a Once-ler?" he repeated. "You don't have to be. You've more then paid them back. You can be anything you want. So why are you a Once-ler?"

"You can't change what you are," Once replied, deciding to go with the hallucination, and took another drink.

"Oh. But you can," the man replied, putting the building back, "You have to means. You can be _anything-_ yes _anything_."

The Once-ler's only reply came in the lighting of the cigar that had gone out when he put it down.

"Look around," The apparition warned him, "The things you are doing are completely ungood. You should be locked up- you will, because you should."

"What!" Oncie jumped. Locked up?

"Who are you?" The apparition asked, putting out a hand and trailing his finger's up the expensive suit until he came to the fingertips of the green gloves, "Who are you?"

"I am THE Once-ler," Oncie replied, dragging the illusion across his desk, nimble frame hitting the model, but scampering over it rather then dragging it to the floor. He held the wrist in a death grip that knocked the doppelganger to its knees as he watched it try to escape his grasp.

"Behold," the Once-ler on the floor motioned with his free hand, "The intruder and his violent ways."

"Oh please." Once released him in a dramatic flail, "Are you supposed to be my conscious?"

The boy didn't reply. Instead he said, "You're ripped the life from these lands, Mr. Once-ler. Nothing flies or swims or scampers. There's nothing out there but a wasteland."

Once-ler rose to his feet and paced to the glass overlooking the balcony, and out into the fields beyond. Fucking conscious. It did look... dark out there. And the river was turning an unappetizing shade of black. He could see his brothers marching off to the last trove of trees with rifles slung over their shoulders. Chet noticed him and waved. He waved back. They looked so happy.

Once returned to the desk and picked up a seldom-used guitar, "_Every Once in a while,_" he sang, strumming slowly, "_I sit down with myself._

_And I cringe I don't smile_

_As I sit there on trial,_

_Asking, 'Once-ler,_

_Why are you a Once-ler?_

_The things you are doing, are completely ungood._

_You ought to be locked in a Hoosegow, you should,'_

_**'But if I didn't do them- then someone else would!'**_

_'That's a very good point-_

_Mr. Once-ler'."_

He hummed and continued to play as his doppelganger watched him, in thought.

"If you didn't do them, then someone else would?" the illusion finally spoke.

"_If I didn't do them,_

_Then someone else would,_" Oncie responded melodically.

"Do they love us?" the apparition asked, staring out at the gloom outside.

"_Everyone here that you see_

_Is madly in love with me-"_ he responded.

The other Once-ler was beginning to get annoyed. He reached out and grabbed the guitar from himself, marched to the balcony, threw open the door, and tossed it with all his might.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Once was on his feet, "That's a fucking GIBSON! That ain't that piece of shit dad gave us, you can't just throw that off a goddamed 4th story balcony! Are you insane!"

"It isn't fun when someone destroys something you love, is it?" the doppelganger was in his face, shoving a finger in his chest, "You selfish brat."

"Selfish?" he hissed, "Do you know that most of the money I make is reinvested right back into the town? How much I give to charity? Who the hell are you to call me selfish? You're nothing but a figment of my imagination!"

"I'm your conscious!" the doppelganger countered.

"Well... Maybe I don't need a conscious!" Once shoved past him and back into his office. "I do need a therapist. Leave me alone. You're almost as big a downer as that moustach."

"If you don't fix this," the apparition approached him slowly, and threw it's arms around him as he bent to pick up his model, "You'll live the rest of your life consumed with regret. You know what has to be done."

Once felt him. He was real. Those thin arms squeezing him, that hot breath on the back of his neck, that comforting weight that felt the same as when Norma leaned into him- this thing wasn't dangerous. It loved him. His shoulders drooped a bit at this realization. Then, his resolved kicked in, and he hoisted the model to his chest and pulled forward out of the grasp of the creature.

"I understand what you're saying," he said with a solemn glow, "But business is business, and business must grow." He shrugged at the melancholy expression on the face of the other, and left the office.


	9. Chapter 9

There's a principle of nature

_Every once and a while_

That almost every creature knows

_I sit down with myself_

Called survival of the fittest

_And I cringe I don't smile_

And this is how it goes

_As I sit there on trial_

The animal that lives has to

_Asking Once-ler_

Fight and scratch and punch

_Why are you a Once-ler_

And the animal that doesn't

_You ought to be locked_

Well the animal that doesn't

_In a hoosegow you should_

Winds up someone's else's lunch

_The things you are doing_

Munch munch munch munch munch

_Are completely ungood_

_I am the lorax, I speak for the trees_

Well, I speak for mankind, and humanity's needs

_I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues_

And listen you Lorax when I tell you I'm figuring

_And I'm asking you sir at the top of my lungs_

On biggering and BIGGERING and **BIGGERING**

_A company is just an animal_

_Trying to keep itself alive..._

Once jerked awake so hard he overshot in the darkness of his bedroom and laid his forehead against the comforter. Beside him, Norma slept soundly, gorgeous in the moonlight in her homey flannel. They were four stories up, close to the sky, but the moonbeams barely cracked through the thick cloud-cover.

Cloud-cover...

He sat up.

Smog-cover.

He glanced at the clock. 4:00am. Three hours before he needed to be awake. He knew that he wasn't going back to sleep. His dreams had been haunted ever since he saw the vision of himself, warning him over... what? Something cryptic. His mind was playing tricks on him. The stress of his job was driving him mad. He watched Norma for a long moment, her perfect breasts rising and falling, wondering how he had suckered her into putting up with him. Their engagement, the year that his mother had insisted on, was nearly half over. And she was still here. Why?

He wasn't going to wake her up. He rose to his feet and made his way, as silently as he could, into the kitchen. He turned on the stove and began to heat the kettle to make some coffee. He knew that sleep was out of the question- might as well go ahead and start the day. He hummed as he measured his beans into the strainer, trying to remember the song that haunted him from his dreams.

"_A company is just an animal,_

_Trying to survive," _he sang, _"It's clawing, and it's fighting_

_Just to keep itself alive..._

_And if the customers are buying_

_And the PR people lieing_

_And the lawyers are denying..."_

He looked out the window at the darkness. Nothing. Nothing moved. No sounds. It was dead quiet. Everything was dead.

"_Who cares if a few things are dieing?_" he sang under his breath, staring out the window.

He took his cup back to the table, and thought back to a conversation he had had with his brothers a few months ago.

"Once, what the hell, man?" Chet had asked, holding a busted guitar, the neck had snapped, held together by the strings and force of will.

"I don't know." Once-ler had replied, drowning another glass of vodka.

"Ain't this the guit-box you wanted your whole damn life?" He asked, "Special brand or somethin'?"

"It's a Gibson," Once had affirmed, pouring himself another glass.

"Why'd you throw it off the porch?" there was real concern in his brother's voice.

"I didn't."

"Yeah, you did," Bret piped up from his position by the door, "We both saw you, Once."

"No you didn't." Once barked, hastily, panic in his voice, "You thought you did. But you didn't. I would never do that. I _love _that guitar. I would never destroy something I loved just to prove a point to an idiot. That's not who I am."

The twins looked at each other before turning back to their brother. Bret approached him slowly, like one would an unfamiliar dog, "Look, Oncie-"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" he snapped, anger rising in his voice.

Bret threw up his hands, "I've called you that since I've been old enough to talk."

"Well... not anymore." Once's eyes lit up from behind his tinted glasses, "I hate that name. That's what mom calls me in that patronizing twang of hers. Fuck that. I took my accent into a back alley and shot it in the head the second I got famous." He poured himself another shot and downed it.

"Once," Bret started again, "You're drunk. You're drinking like a fish."

"No, no no..." Once replied, pouring another shot and drinking it, "No I'm not, because the fish are gone. And even if they weren't, fish don't _drink _you idiot, they breath. They live _in water_. That's a stupid, redneck turn-of-phrase, and you're a stupid redneck for sayin' it."

"Once," Chet tried this time, "You're sick, bro, you need a vacation."

"A vacation!" Once was beginning to slur, "Yeah, I do need a fucking vacation! I need a vacation from the two of you, from this GODDAMNED BUILDING, from all the IDIOTS that I surround myself with! I want OUT, B- Chet, I want OUT! I HATE it here!"

"You're drunk." Bret said simply, rolling his eyes, "You're right. You don't drink like a fish. You drink like ma."

Once stood at that, wobbly on his legs, and hurled the bottle of vodka at his brother. Bret didn't even move, his brother was so drunk that it hit the wall and shattered a good four feet from him. He stared through Once as the other gripped the desk and began to shake.

"Aaaw, FUCK," he screamed, his draw making it's famous comeback, "I coulda' drunk that! Get someone in here to clean this shit up."

Bret looked at his twin and they exchanged a nod. Once glared at them both from behind his glasses, but his eyes wouldn't focus.

"What'r'you?" he asked as Chet grabbed both his arms behind his back, "Ah hell no!" he began to squirm and kick as Bret grabbed his legs, "No!" he shouted forcefully, "You can't do this! I'm not 10-years-old, I'm the goddamned ONCE-LER! **THE **ONCE-LER!"

"Once," Bret took a deep breath, "**SHUT THE FUCK UP!" **

Once-ler fell silent.

"Now," he continued, "We have put up with a **lot **o' bullshit outta you since you started makin' money. But we ain't ma, and you need to remember that. Who was it that was standing there beside you when we had a whole field to clear? What was it that laid traps and checked them? Who was it that pooled our cash to make sure we got the shit we needed? Who was it that worked our asses off cutting those tuffs & shit by hand before you could afford to build your fancy machines? Now **straiten the fuck up** and **act like you got some goddamned sense** and we'll put you down. Now, you're my big brother- and I love ya', but you are goin' batshit. And I ain't gonna let that happen. You always watched out for us, and we're gonna watch out for you. Now, are you gonna be good if we put you down?"

Once remained silent for a long time, before he finally answered, "Yes."

Bret put his feet on the ground, and Chet let go of his arms. He rubbed them. Then he took his glasses off and stared at both of them. He had sometimes been jealous- wished that he had a twin to. But it began to sink in that they really did love him, really did appreciate everything he had done for them, and that he really was worrying them, They weren't being ungrateful or mean, they were- oh god.

"Back up," he warned his brothers, and fell to his knees before vomiting all over his expensive carpet.

"See, that's what you get for drinkin," Chet couldn't hide the smirk that played across his face. But he went back to his brother's desk and returned with a cigar, "Here, smoke this, settle your stomach."

"Smoking settles your stomach?" Once-asked, half in a daze.

"Yeah, well, the tuffs do," Chet shrugged and pulled out a lighter.

"Once, seriously," Bret grabbed his brother by the shoulders, "You gotta pull yourself together. You _got _to. For you, and for your woman. She don't deserve this."

He stared down into his coffee, then back in the direction of the bedroom. She didn't deserve that. This mess of a man who couldn't handle his own shit. Who had gotten to big for his britches and who had no idea how to get out. He was a grown man, right? But he was still sleeping in flannel bunny pajamas.

_Little baby bunting_

_Daddy's gone a-hunting_

_Gone to get a rabbit skin_

_To wrap a baby bunting in_

Why did everything remind him of song lyrics tonight? He stared out the window, the sky was still a shade of black, even though his coffee had gone cold. How long was he sitting here? He coughed. He needed to quit smoking. They all did. Norma did to. But he would never tell her that. She knew what she was doing. How he wished he knew what he was doing.

He was still terrified that she would figure him out, that she would see through him, past the expensive suits, past the fake confidence, to the broken shell of a hick that he was. He was drowning in a company that he didn't understand. He had never been to business school. He knew how to knit. That was the expanse of his skills. He could make the damn things. But he had no idea how to run a business, or what to do with the money he made. He spent it like it was going out of style, but he knew that Norma had put it away. He handed her money and it went into... a bank or something. He had never had a bank account, he had hired accountants because he was to stupid to handle his own money. How sad was that? He was rich, and so stupid he had to hire people to tell him how to spend it.

He sipped his cold coffee and stared out the window, praying for a dawn he wasn't sure he'd see.


	10. Chapter 10

"Mornin beanpole!" The Once-ler turned from the window, to see the Lorax had seated himself across the table from him.

"It's the middle of the night," he rubbed his temples, "What the fuck did you do, climb up here?"

The Lorax suddenly grabbed the man's bangs and pulled sharply, causing him to slam his head into the table.

"What the hell?" Once rubbed the area.

"Don't swear at your elders," The Lorax warned him, "Not gonna offer an old friend a cup of... whatever that is? Smells good."

The Once-ler stood, poured his cold coffee down the sink, and went about making a fresh cup for both of them, "It's only good if you put a lot of milk, and sugar, and honey in it," he explained, mixing his.

"Then why drink it?" The Lorax asked.

"It makes you... awake." The man explained. "Nice to see you here all... not being annoying. Did you give up?"

"Nah," the Lorax was trying to repeat the movements Once-ler made after he made them, stirring in everything and measuring it just as Oncie had, "Haven't given up. Just kinda worried about you. You look like you haven't been sleeping."

"I haven't." he sighed, "I can't stop, mustache. I can't shut down- there are over 100,000 people who depend on me. I think I'm going crazy. I don't think you're real. I don't think you ever were."

"What?"

"I mean," he poked at the creature's fluff, "What even are you? You're like... a deformed barbaloot? This is so something I would make up."

"I told you, I'm the almighty guardian of the forest." The Lorax pushed his hand away and took a sip of the coffee, "Hey, this is pretty good kid."

"Yeah. I knew you would say that. Because you're a figment of my imagination, and _I _like coffee, so of course, _you_ like coffee to." he poked at the creature again, "You're that part of me that won't let me enjoy success, that has to find something to nit-pic to take apart, to knock me down, because _I _don't think I deserve it."

"Hm..." the Lorax pondered that before changing the subject, "Hey beanpole, did you know that it takes 10 months for a truffila seed to germinate?"

The Once-ler shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

"And it takes 10 years for a truffila tree to grow big enough to start producing seeds of it's own?" the creature continued.

"Ok. Cutting down trees is bad. They take a long time to grow. You've said that. I know. I KNOW." Once didn't open his eyes, "You don't realize what it's like to be trapped, do you? I _can't _stop. It isn't me anymore. It's not. It's the company. Even if I wanted to, I would get _lynched_. People _depend _on me."

"People depend on me to, beanpole." The Lorax sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry, but business is business, and business must grow..." Oncie trailed off.

"Noticed your mate is here- in your den."

"Y-yes," Oncie stuttered at the change of subject, the color returning to his face.

"Brought her stuff,"

"Y-yes she did."

"Why?" The Lorax asked with genuine interest.

"Because- um... because... shut up mustache!" Once hid his face behind the mug and took a long drink.

"So, do humans have a mating season like humming fish, or do they mate for life, like barbaloots?" he continued, enjoying watching the kid squirm.

"Um... life," he reluctantly admitted, "We have a ceremony where we promise to um... I don't really know what the promise is... to be good to each other, I guess... and I give her a ring and she gives me a ring, and then we dance and eat cake... and it's really hard to explain if you have no idea what I'm talking about... but we're getting ready for that. It's called a 'wedding'."

"Nah, I get it," the forest guardian shrugged, "Lots of critters have mating dances and rituals and whatnot. Good for you kid." He looked out the window behind the Once-ler and added, "You want to raise offspring here?"

The Once-ler turned his back to him to gaze out the window himself. The short answer was no. At one time, this had been the most beautiful place he had ever seen. But now, with the run-off from the factory choking the river, and the black smog clouding the sky, it didn't seem like the kind of place where any child would want to play. But what could he do? He couldn't say that. Maybe they could get a summer house somewhere better, somewhere nicer, where the water was still wet and the sky was still blue and the grass was still green- after all, the money was still green, still rolling in.

Then he thought of what he had said to himself, that if he hadn't built here, then someone else would. How many places were left like the one in his mind? How many other people were out there, right now, staring out windows at exactly the same thing he saw. He had to get it out of his mind. Might as well Irish up the coffee. He opened a cabinet, pulled out a clear liquid, and poured. Just to take the edge off.

Jesus- that was what his mother said, wasn't it? _Not to much, Chet dear, just enough to take the edge off._ Whatever. He had to put in a long day at work, he was going mad, and he was a grown man. He could have a nip if he wanted to. He reached for the pocked under his lapel, only to remember that he was wearing his pajamas. Why was he still wearing his pajamas? It wasn't like he was going to go back to bed. As soon as he finished this cup he would go take a shower and put his clothes on. Everything seemed to make more sense, seemed to be easier to deal with, when he had his suit on.

"Well?" the Lorax asked, breaking through his train of thought.

"Not really." The Once-ler mumbled, and sipped. Two different kinds of hot.

"There's still time, beanpole."

He stared at the small, fuzzy creature, felt a headache coming on, then turned up his cup, took a breath, and chugged it's contents in one long, satisfying drink. He didn't need this guilt-trip bullshit this early in the morning. You can only do what you can do, and no one should ask any more then that from you. When he was finished, he spun, tossed the cup into the sink, had one of those small moments of terror where he thought he had broken it, sighed in relief when it didn't shatter, and turned back to the creature.

"I'm going to go take a shower," he said with an air of authority, "When I get back, I want you to be out of my house."

He pushed past the creature on his way to the bathroom.


	11. Chapter 11

Norma stared at the blue lines on the stick. Just stared at them. She had locked herself away at work, on purpose, to keep Oncie from finding it, even in the trash. She was the manager, after all, and the cashier could watch the store, it was a book store, it wasn't a very high volume business, and she had been getting so dizzy anyway and... now all she could do was stare.

Pregnant.

Engaged to the most successful man in Greenville- soon to be Thneedville, with a full bank account, a career of her own, a support network, a huge house- it sounded like a fairy tale. She was a princess about to become queen of an empire, with this valiant prince in green who rode in not on a white steed, but a faithful mule whom she had fed tomatoes when they first met. She was young, rich, and in love.

So why did something feel so wrong? Why didn't she want to tell him? What was her gut telling her that her mind couldn't unlock? Why was she crying?

Hormones. It had to be the hormones. There was no other reason for it. Her body was just messing with her, and she knew better then to let it. It was all going to be rainbows and sunshine. She would spend the next nine months with him freaking out and taking care of her and feeding her Rocky Road ice cream and rubbing her feet. It's just the kind of man he was. And she knew that. She knew that. He was kind, gentle, caring- when she met him, he used to make food for the barbaloots and feed it to them at the table. She had woken next to him one morning and there was one wrapped in his arms! The guardian of the forest appeared to him! He would be an amazing father!

So why did she feel the need to convince herself like this?

The Once-ler took a deep breath and coughed. That's it- he was giving up cigars- after he smoked the ones he had- after all, there was no reason to waste them. His office was cleared, his model was completely finished, not just the sign or the amusement park, or the housing districts, but all of it, a model of efficiency, with the university at the center, and bustling streets built on a circular grid. The land was cleared, the committee had approved it, and in just a few short hours, he would be going home to his soon-to-be wife and announcing to her that they were dedicating a _statue_ to him in the center of the biggest gathering place in the new town. Everything had fallen into place perfectly. He was so young, he had accomplished all his goals and dreams. Everything was perfect.

The money kept rolling in, he had begun a reseeding project to keep the Lorax quiet, and everywhere that was not designated for construction had been seeded to produce more saplings for more truffila trees, which he needed to keep up production. When he had walked into his office, he noticed that they were about to hit the 6 million sold mark, when they did, he would have to throw a party for the staff. He rubbed his hands together in glee before bending over the model to envision how Marisols the new city would be, to reflect how amazing his luck was, and how proud he was of all his hard work. He had built something here. A business. A home. A life. His mother was proud of him. Norma loved him. He had become _someone_. Thneeds were a household name. He created jobs and homes and schools- he would be remembered for this, long after he was gone, he had left a mark that would linger.

"Beanpole?" The voice of the Lorax was sad.

"Oh god," Once-ler shook his head and put delicate fingers to his forehead, "Who let you in? What are you doing here? I need you out of here NOW!"

Before he could scream for his brothers to come and drag the fur-ball out, it asked in a quiet voice, "Why? Do I make you uncomfortable? Remind you of the man you used to be? Of the promises you made?" the creature turned and looked at him with sorrow in his big, green eyes, "Of the promises your broke?"

"I-" The Once-ler began.

"This is your last chance, beanpole," The guardian sat on the banister overlooking the valley, "I've warned you, but this is your last chance."

Once-ler's ire was up. _Warned_ him? He had been _bitching_ at him for years, but never _warned _him. Was that a _threat_? Fuck that. No one threatened **the **Once-ler.

"If you have such a problem," he hissed, "With what I'm doing," he stood to his full height and towered over the small creature, who jumped down and backed away as if in fear, "Then why don't you use your 'magical powers' to stop me?"

"I told you, it doesn't work that way," The guardian replied, and opened his mouth again, but the mogul cut him off.

"Oh wait, that's right, I forgot," he mocked, "You're a **FRAUD**!" his breath was coming in shallow rasps now, his anger welling up inside and threatening to burst out, "I am SICK of this! I have done **NOTHING wrong!** I have done **NOTHING** **illegal**! I **know** my RIGHTS! And I intend to keep biggering and biggering, and turning **more **truffila trees into thneeds- which everyone, everywhere **NEEDS**!" He had been towering over the creature, and had backed him off the balcony and onto the stairs that ran from the balcony to the production and dispatch area, and the little thing had no choice but to continue its downward march. "**AND NOTHING," **the anger that had been fuming had finally reached it's apex, his shouts rang through the entire factory, through the entire valley, shaking everyone within to their very core, "**IS GOING TO STOP ME!**"

But the Lorax wasn't looking at him anymore. He had leaned into the creature's personal space, screamed the last line right in its face, but it wasn't looking at him. It was looking at the field. The Once-ler, annoyed by this, turned his gaze to see what the hell could possibly be more interesting then the fight they were having, and nearly screamed himself. The tree that he and Norma had sat under, the one that he had left standing in the barren field was...

No...

No!

NO!

_whack_

And it fell. It fell to the ground with the loudest crack he had ever heard. Why would they cut that one down! Why?

"That may stop you," There was pure, unfiltered sorrow in the Lorax's voice, "That's it. That's the very last one. Hope it was worth it." He turned to walk away, and added, "Human."

"Wh-what?" The Once-ler hurried down the steps after him, but he faded, and was gone, like a ghost.

"The last one- that's... can't be the last one. There's no FUCKING WAY IT'S THE LAST ONE!" he shouted to no one in particular as he bolted up the stairs so fast he tripped over his own feet, "No no no no no," he repeated it like a mantra.

The phone was ringing when he reached his desk and he scooped it up.

"Mr. Once-ler?" The voice of his secretary.

"Yes?" He asked, trying, and failing, to keep his voice from shaking.

"The foreman of the logging crew is on line 1, sir. He's asking to let the entire crew leave early. I didn't know what to tell him."

Oncie licked his lips, "Patch," he took a deep breath, "Patch him through."

The phone clicked and a gruff voice picked up immediately, "Mr Once-ler?" he questioned, "Sorry to bother you, but we finished clearing. We finished the other side 'a the valley yesterday, and this little patch was the last 'a it, and it looks like we're done. What are we supposed to do?"

"What do you mean?" he took another deep breath, rooted around for a cigar and found it, "The last of them?" he fumbled for a match, struck it, and inhaled deeply before shaking it out and just letting it fall.

"I mean, the whole valley's clear," the man replied, startled by the shaking in his boss's voice.

"For the construction?" Once-ler asked, hopefully.

"Yes sir. And for production to. We're way ahead 'a schedule. This is it. This is the last load in the whole valley." He sounded proud.

"The whole valley..." Oncie repeated, "Well, we'll buy up more land, they grow outside the valley to, right? I mean, I- right?"

"What? I dunno, Mr. Once-ler. We can look. But I ain't one of these new-comers. I lived in Greenville all my life and I ain't never seen a truff nowhere but here. They cut off at the mountain pass when it gets to cold for 'um or whatever. Nah, we're plum out."

"You can't be **OUT **of trees!" he screamed into the receiver, "MY COMPANY GROWS ON TREES! MY **MONEY **GROWS ON TREES! YOUR PAYCHECKS **GROW** ON TREES!"

"But I mean, I seen the crews out here plantin the little ones. We'll just pick back up when they grow-" the man was beginning to sound panicky.

"**IT TAKES A DECADE FOR THOSE GODDAMN TREES TO GROW HIGH ENOUGH FOR ME TO USE THEM**!" He shouted, and it echoed through the halls.

"Mr Once-ler," the man's voice was shaking, "What do you want me to do?"

"**TELL YOUR CREW THAT YOU JUST 'AHEAD-OF-SCHEDUALED' THEM RIGHT OUT OF A FUCKING JOB**!" He screamed into the receiver and slammed it down. Then before he could think, he ripped the entire phone out and threw it against the door.

Bret stuck his head inside, "You Ok Once?"

"**I'M FUCKED**!" His brother shouted at him.

Bret motioned Chet inside and shut the door behind them, "What's going on?"

"**WE'RE OUT OF TREES**!" Once was grabbing the other things that were on his desk, a picture of his mother, a stack of papers, his cigar case, and throwing them around like an angry child. He came to a picture of Norma, looked at it, sat it down, and started ripping drawers out.

"You can't be outta trees, Once," Chet assured him, "They're _trees_."

"**WELL WE ARE!**" Once screamed, and then, all language failing him, just let out a shriek, lifted his expensive chair, and hurled it through the glass out onto the balcony.

"**Once!**" Bret screamed, "**Calm the fuck down!**"

"You don't seem to understand," Once-ler marched to him, his expensive shoes clanking on the hardwood, "I am **fucked **without trees! I built this whole town around the thneeds, and the thneeds are made from the **goddamned trees**! If the factory doesn't have raw materials, then I can't pay the workers, and if I can't pay my employees, then they can't buy shit, and if they can't buy shit, then all my side-businesses go bankrupt. And when all my businesses go bankrupt, **I AM FUCKED!** I'm worse then I was before, because I will be in **so much debt**! I bought a **MOTHERFUCKING CITY**! **I AM FUCKED!**"

He kicked the door in frustration, and it fell from it's hinges.

"Shit," Chet said in wonder, with no idea what he should be saying.

"Once, what about the other people, not everyone works here..."

"**EVERYONE WORKS HERE**!" Once explained, "Or depends on the money of people who works here! God I AM **SO PISSED OFF**! I WANT TO DESTROY SOMETHING! GET EVERYONE OUT OF THIS FUCKING FACTORY!"

"Once, calm down!" Bret begged.

"**I WANT TO KILL SOMETHING**!" Once-ler shouted, and kicked the door again, this time not only sending it off it hinges, but flying to the hall floor, to the dismay of his secretary.

"Bro, you gotta calm down," Chet tried this time.

"**ARE YOU BOTH RETARDED!**" he shouted and moved back to his desk, flipping it over with a strain- damn thing was heavy.

"Yeah," Bret rolled his eyes, "We're retarded. That's why we're throwing a bitch fit like a goddamned young'un."

Once panted heavily, leaned over the ruins of his desk and shouted, "Futzler! I need a drink! Bring me some marshmallow vodka."

She stuck her head through the door, handed the glass to Bret, and disappeared back into the hall. Once was on his feet and approaching his brother before she had time to whip around. Bret unscrewed the bottle and took a long drink before staring Once down.

"You don't need to be drunk right now." he chided, "You don't know shit about business. How about, instead of throwing a tantrum, you ask all them folk you hired to run this shit? See what the fuck you're doing 'fore you shut down?"

Once snatched the vodka from his brother's grip, then stuck his head out the door, "Futzler," he barked, "I want my managerial staff, the PR people, the what are they called, people who built the town..."

"Real estate?" she asked.

"Yeah, them, and my accountants up here. Now. Legal might wanna come to." he turned and looked at his office, "In the um... whatever the biggest board room is. And while I'm gone, get someone to come and clean up this mess."


	12. Chapter 12

"Call Norma and get her down here!" The Once-ler barked at his secretary, already scrambling to assemble the group he had requested as he made his way to board room C, the largest, with his brothers. He was sucking down vodka and hyperventilating into his cigar as if he was dying.

"Once," Bret made a drinking motion and his brother passed him the bottle. He took a drink and handed it back.

They seated themselves and waited for the others, who scrambled in hastily, having, Once hoped, been debriefed by his secretary. His head accountant and her lackeys scrambled in first.

"Mr Once-ler," she sighed, running a hand through her frazzled hair, "Thankfully, we've been aware of the problem and have prepared. The company has enough raw material to last for the next few weeks while we work on alternative materials-"

"Alternative materials?" He asked, and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.

"Yes, you're the idea man, sir. You have a month to come up with a synthetic-"

"THERE IS NO SYNTHETIC!" he screamed, then to the opening door as legal scampered in, "SOMEONE TELL FUTZLER TO GET MARKETING IN HERE! As I was saying- there is no synthetic- half our fucking marketing is that the materials are 'all natural'."

"All natural?" She asked, her face contorting, "What are you talking about? We completely **raped** this land. We get new materials or go bankrupt!"

"Get that idea out of your head," he snapped.

"What's the big deal, Once?" Chet shrugged, "I seen you knit before you got a truff tuff." he rolled his eyes and added, "fag."

"For the last fucking time, Chet- there is NOTHING unmanly about knitting. I built this fucking company on knitting, so you can shut your goddamn mouth. And secondly, if you _did _know anything about knitting, you'd know that the reason I never made a thneed at home is because I needed something that was soft, stretchy, durable, and versatil, and I tried for years to find something that would work, and NOTHING did. The tuffs are the only thing that worked. It wouldn't shape right, wouldn't transform right, wouldn't do half the shit it does if we used a different fiber. People would notice. Those tuffs are the reason that there are no knock-offs."

"Well, Mr. Once-ler," she sighed, and handed him a book filled with numbers, "At our minimal 40-hour workweek, if we don't give any overtime, we've got enough raw materials to last _maybe _4 weeks, but we have orders for significantly more then we have materials to make. So we come up with something, or we have retailers all over the world who are going to want their money back."

"There is no alternative..." he took another drink of the vodka, "There is no alternative..."

"Then what do you want to do, sir?"

"How do I..." he rubbed his eyes and took the last long draw from his cigar, "Cut my losses with the least amount of... pain?"

"We'll get on it, sir. But like I said, the distributors and the retailers have already paid for orders, if the company isn't making a product, we're going to start hemorrhaging money. The first order of business is going to be lay-offs of non-essential services."

"Do it."

"We keep a skeleton crew, but it's going to put a lot of people out of work."

"Do it."

"We could cut back by half if everyone was willing to take fewer hours- like, part-time hours, or by three quarters if everyone wants to keep their time, but we have to pay full time in a benefits package, so it would be better to keep more employees and pay them less-" she explained.

"Whatever. Just do it."

"People are going to know that we're shutting down when we do this. Half the factory out of work and the rest with half their paychecks- moral's going to drop."

"Just..." he sighed, lighting a new cigar, "Stop talking about it and do it. We'll deal with the bad shit when it happens."

"The University is not balancing a budget," she went on, "They keep coming in over-budget, we're losing money with that as well- the construction projects really depended on increased revenue from the factory to fund, so we're going to run into the red there next week- the theme park is completed, and the projections for that look good, so that's... something, but it isn't going to come anywhere close to offsetting the loss... and the projections include the income of the employees- the vast majority of the city's residents are employed here..."

"Give it to me strait," he sighed.

"If you go through with this, you will be broke by the end of the month." She said simply.

"W-what?" he stuttered. He had assumed as much, but hearing her say it, having it confirmed...

"Sir, diversifying was an excelent strategy while income was high, but now... Now you're looking at projects that the funding has fallen through on, and that means that we're looking at massive debt."

"How massive?" he asked, his voice barely audible, his features sagging.

"You won't quite hit $500 million in the red, by the end of next month, but you'll be close."

"What do I do?"

She turned her gaze to the head of the legal department. Behind him sat a team of lawyers, including his dear uncle, Ubb.

"They can't take what isn't yours, Once," He spoke in a quiet voice, perhaps the only other one in the room to truly feel his nephew's loss. He took a deep breath, "So here's what you do. You give it away. You give the profits you have right now to me, Bret, Chet, your ma, you get everything out of your name. Then you file for bankruptcy. That's all you can do."

Once took a deep breath- that actually sounded like it might work.

"Yes," he nodded, "Yeah, let's do that."

"Alright," Ubb opened a ledger, "How do you want it divided?"

"A million for you and aunt Griselda, a million for mom, a million each for my wonderful brothers, and the rest to Norma." Once said without hesitation.

"Once, you realize that you give that money to Norma, you get married, and the debt collectors will still come after you, right? It becomes marital property." Ubb asked.

"Yeah, I know..." Once took a deep breath, "We'll have to put the wedding off for a little while."

"Alright, well..." Ubb sighed and motioned to the rest of the legal department, "We'll draw up the paperwork. Won't take long, it's a form letter, basically, transfer of funds. We'll have it back as fast as we can. Probably within the hour."

"Yeah," Once agreed, but his voice was hollow.

"A million each?" Bret asked as the door closed behind him, "Once... how much money you got?"

"I don't want it back either," he laid his head on the desk, "I want you two to be happy, to take the money and do something, anything, but use it better then I did."

"Mr. Once-ler?" the head of marketing was at the door.

"Meeting is adjourned," he said without lifting his head, "You're to late."

The Once-ler expected his office to be presentable when he walked through the door that had been set back in it's proper place. And it was. Everything was where it should be, everything he had broken had been replaced or fixed. It was perfect. Except for one thing. His mother stood, staring out the glass balcony doors at the wasteland he had created.

Oh shit.

"Oh Oncie," she began, "There you are."

"Yes..." he said it slowly, carefully, and took off his hat and glasses, because if he didn't, she would tell him to anyway.

"Your aunt tells me that Ubb told her that you're going bankrupt." she turned from the window to look into his sorrowful face.

"...yes," he responded in a small voice, wishing that there was some way around that conversation.

"Why?" She asked curtly.

Oncie took a deep breath, inhaling no air but getting a good hit off his cigar while he thought about the best way to explain. He finally decided that there was no way to sugar coat it.

"I've run out of trees. Run out of material. There's nothing left."

"I thought you planted more of those things," she accused- it was accusation in her voice, and took a step toward him.

He ashed his cigar in the tray before he responded carefully, "I did, ma, but it takes around 11 years for them to grow big enough to be useful."

"So make the thneeds out of something else!" she snapped.

"I _can't_," he began, but she cut him off.

"Of **course** you **can**, Oncie!" she snapped, "I've seen you knit outta sheep and rabbits and those sweaters you took apart! Use something else!"

"Because I wasn't making _thneeds_, ma!" he shot back, "You knit! You know that different yarns knit up different! You think that if I coulda pulled anything outta my stash I would have ridden in that covered wagon for _months_! I had to find the right materials! And now it's gone!"

"But you have a back-up plan, right?" She asked- she had to concede the point.

"It would be stupid to say 'yes' now," he held his face in one hand and the cigar in the other, "I obviously don't."

"Well," she clicked her tongue in that way he hated, that condescending, irritating way, "Well, well, well," she repeated, "You don't know what the hell you're doing, do you?"

"Ma, please!" he whispered, into his hand.

"You had everybody fooled, didn't you, Oncie?" she spread her arms as wide as they would go, "Buyin' up everything you saw like you was king of the fuckin world. Just wastin money left an right like it was goin outta style! Big man, big fucking businessman! Gonna 'change the world'!"

"Ma, please," he repeated, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"And the worst part is, I believed you! I let myself believe that you had it all under control, that you were successful! That you could actually be somethin'! I let you fool me! I shoulda known, but I didn't. I let myself think... I let myself be deceived by my own goddamn son! Watchin you prance around with that- ridiculous outfit, watchin you pretend to be somethin you ain't, watchin you let that little golddiger into your house-"

"**MA**!" He finally shouted, ashing his cigar, "**STOP IT!**" he stood up, and she stared through him as he fought to meet her gaze.

Finally, without dropping her air of authority, she asked, "You got somethin to say for yourself, boy?"

Once-ler felt his face flushing, his heart racing, and he debated sitting back down to listen to the rest of her lecture, but something had just hit to hard. Something she had said had hit him hard enough that he couldn't sit down.

"Y-yeah!" he said, the words getting caught in his throat, "Yeah, ma, I do!" He narrowed his eyes, "How about I say that, if I had just harvested the tuffs like I had wanted to, instead of cutting the trees like you had told me to, they'd have regrown tuffs in a year instead of a decade? How about I say that if I had saved my money, instead of blowing it like you wanted to, I would have a fucking nest egg! How about I say that my woman is **not **a golddigger, and that she supported me before I sold a single goddamn thing, and never put me down ONCE like you ALWAYS have! How about I say that if I had listened to you **less **and her **more**, I wouldn't be nearly as FUCKED as I am right now!"

"Are you tryin to blame," Suzette put a hand over her chest in a dramatic flair to show that she had been grievously hurt, "Your business failure on me?"

He hadn't thought of it until he had started speaking, but it did seem like every bad decision had come from her hair-spray addled brain.

"HAS THAT BLEACH SOAKED THROUGH TO YOUR BRAIN!" he screamed, "No- no it's not your fault! It's my fault for listening to you! For giving a shit what you think! You don't give a shit about me or my invention! You were fine to let me wander alone and forgotten until I started making money!"

"Oncie- you know that's not true! You were the one who was so dead-set on leaving after graduation. I thought you were gonna stay and help run the farm. You were the oldest- it was your responsibility! Your poor brothers had to pick up the slack!"

"Why doesn't that shock me?" he asked, "How the **FUCK** did you live on a farm and have perfectly manicured nails? You never did any work around that place! If not for me and the twins, you would have starved! I've- fuck, I'm in my 20s, and I've never seen you work a day in your life! You mooched off dad until he died, and then you mooched off your brother- and now you're mooching off me! Just... **just take your fucking money and get out of my office**!" he shrieked the last line like a child who was having a tantrum- barely able to breath through his own anger.

"You think real hard about what you're doin, Once," she narrowed her eyes and pointed one perfectly manicured finger at him, "Throwin your family away like that."

He stood there, fuming, staring her down with those burning eyes, his entire body convulsing with each breath, until she eventually tore her eyes away first, and slammed the door behind her with a loud CRACK. He expected his brothers to come in after him, to bitch him out for the fight they no doubt heard from their posts by the door, but they didn't. His office was dark, and silent, and he was alone.

He was alone.

He lit another cigar in the darkness and took a deep breath.

He was alone.


	13. Chapter 13

"Once?"

The Once-ler looked up from his stupor as the door cracked open. His uncle was standing there.

"Come in," he let out the hit he had been holding.

"Once, you can't sit in here alone in the dark- it's not good for you."

"I can do what I want," he said flatly, "It's my company. I built it. I ran it into to the ground. If I want to sit in the dark I'll sit in the dark."

"Suzy's packing. I don't know what you said to her, but I never have seen her this pissed."

"Yeah."

"She said you told her to leave."

"I told her," he took another long drag, "To shut the fuck up or get out. I guess she chose to get out." he closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingertips, "You got my paperwork."

"You're still going to give her the money?" His uncle asked in amazement.

"Yeah."

"She's leaving. She's going back to the farm. She won't sign it back over when it's all over." Ubb explained.

"I know."

"Well, it's your money." He shrugged, and laid the stack of papers on his desk.

"You're leaving to." Once explained simply.

"Look, Once, I love my sister, but I'm not a rat on a sinking ship. I'll help you however I can."

"Uncle Ubb," he signed, reading over the documents in the dim light before signing the bottom of each one, "You're leaving with Ma. She needs you to keep her from doing something monumentally stupid. And, I'm about to do something monumentally stupid, and you don't want to be here for it. Get all your stuff, and head out."

"What?" he looked the young man in the face, but he continued to read and sign, never looking up, never meeting his gaze, "Once, you're panicking. You're not thinking strait. What do you think you're going to do?"

"None of your concern." He said, without looking up, "Like I said, it's my business. I'll do what I want with it."

"If you want us to leave," Ubb took a deep breath, "Why don't you come with us. Come home. Come back to the farm and start over. Smart kid like you-"

"I'm not a fucking lumberjack for hire," his nephew explained, head finally jerking up to stare through him, "I'm not a farm hand. I'm not like the rest of you. Goddamn, why does no one see that? I don't **want **that life. I'm staying right here, and I'm going down with my fucking ship!" He announced the last line by slamming his fist into the desk with a loud _thud_. "Now sign all of these- notarize them or whatever. You know Norma's gonna sign hers- leave it with me, and get the hell out."

"Your mother has your brothers with her. She doesn't need me."

"Ubb..." he signed, "Bret and Chet are stupid rednecks." He said it so simply, not as an insult, but as a fact, "They need as much guidance as she does. I'm not going to be there for them. And I do NOT want anyone in this factory tonight." He said the last sentence in an odd way- in the way a madman would. Every word got far to much space, as if they were all important, as if it could be the last thing the man ever said.

"I loved ya' Oncie," he said, "You were always welcome in my house. Every time Sue ran outta money, or every time you needed anything, you knew where to go. You still are. You and me- you're right. I ain't gonna have a soul to talk to now."

"Neither will I," Once turned his gaze to the shattered doors leading to the balcony.

The RV was packed. His brothers each hugged him goodbye and swore that they would write as soon as they got home- they probably wouldn't be able to call because... well, because he knew how ma was. And he did. He knew exactly how ma was. His name would become a forbidden word around the house, as if somehow by ignoring him, she could erase him. He knew.

Yet he still walked down the winding flight of stairs to the front of the factory, to see them off. He still watched with sorrow, and horror, expecting only to be left in the dust as the vehicle rolled off. His mother had said her piece, his uncle and his brothers had said their goodbyes. There was nothing else to say.

But that was not how Susanna worked. No. Once had told her to get out of his office, and she was not about to leave without the last word. His shock was so great when she rolled down her window that he took a step back. She and Bret were piled into the front seat, with Chet behind them, each a million dollars richer for their troubles. A million dollars. He had given her a million dollars. A small flame of hope sprang within him. All she had ever cared about was money. Maybe she somehow read that money as an apology- maybe she saw worth in it- worth in him.

"Son," she began, and his face brightened. She hadn't disowned him, perhaps she didn't hate him- "You have let me down." Oh. He was so disheartened that he couldn't say anything. Couldn't move. He just watched up at her, with pleading eyes as he turned to his brother.

"BRET!" she barked, then her voice softened, "You are now my favorite child."

Had she really- just said that? Chet looked at her with dismay, and Bret looked through her, trying his best to apologize to Once with his eyes. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do. Then the window was up, and they were gone in a cloud of exhaust. Rolling over the desolate hills until they vanished over the horizon. Gone. Forever.

He turned to head back into his deserted factory. To wait for Norma so that he could help her pack- so that she could leave him to.

But there was a crowd waiting for him. A crowd of starving, mad animals. The few that were left. The Lorax had approached him three times to tell him that he had sent the vast majority of them away. Some had starved to death. Some had been killed by the pollution. The only ones who were left were the ones who had clung tenaciously to the idea of a home. And now they were here to fight for it. And he had nothing. No security guards. No hunting rifle. Not even an ax or a hammer. All he had was an expensive suit and a broken heart.

"I..." he stammered, and backed away, and a thought suddenly hit him. He was going to die. He was going to be ripped apart by bears, and that was the end of it. "I don't want any trouble."

"And you won't get any," it was the Lorax. He appeared out of the crowd, and they parted for him like the red sea, "I've convinced them to leave. I won't sit and watch any more death. Everything here is dead. Because of you."

And as if on cue, the animals turned, and began a sad march. It felt like a funeral march- and in a way, it was. He removed his hat, out of respect for the family they had lost, until he spotted someone familiar in the crowd. His mule. His. He had raised him from a foal. He had worked beside him on the farm. He had traveled with him. And he was leaving with the herd?

"Melvin?" He asked, and his voice choked. The creature turned to him, snorted sadly, and continued on it's way.

There were tears welling in the Once-ler's eyes.

The bear, the little bear he had saved from the river, the one he had more or less adopted as a pet, the one he had named Pipsqueak- he was in the crowd.

"Pipsqueak!" he called out to it, and it ignored him.

They were starving- maybe it would stay with him if he gave it food. Maybe _something_ would stay with him. He always carried a few marshmallows in his pockets for the animals, he pulled one out, and offered it to the little bear.

"Pipsqueak," he called again, offering the marshmallow.

It turned to look at him, smelling the food, but shrugged the temptation off and fell back in step. It didn't even want that. It was starving, and it wouldn't take food from him. He let the marshmallow drop. He wanted to walk inside, wanted to do anything other then watch this, but he couldn't. His legs would not move. He remained rooted to the spot. He thought he was going to have a heart attack, it just ached so much. It hurt so bad that it was a physical pain. Yet he stood. And he watched.

The Lorax was the last thing standing outside the factory. Just standing inside a little ring of stones, looking at him with such sorrow it added a whole new layer of pain, a new sensation. It was an accusation, but also regret, and... love and disappointment. It hurt. And suddenly- the clouds, the dark, poisonous clouds that he had created, parted, and a single ray of sunlight shone down, illuminating the creature. And finally, it tore it's gaze from him, and ascended, along the beam of light.

He could only watch, mouth agape as the creature, the _magical _creature traveled across the sunbeam, through the hole in the clouds, and... was gone. The smog rolled back over, the sky just as cloudy as ever, and he was left, in the wasteland, truly and desperately, alone.

Alone.

He just sat there, not keeping track of time, staring up where the hole had opened, just staring at it. He had tried to warn him. The creature had told him time and time again, had tried to make him understand. But the money was so green. And it kept rolling in. And he could buy anything, even love. And he thought he was helping. He had been blinded by greed. And now, it was gone. Everything was gone. Money can't buy love- it can only rent it.

He finally turned to go back, back into the factory that he suddenly hated. But he stopped, dead in his tracks. The circle of stones that the Lorax had left behind had an engraving. He bent to look at it, though he could read it from where he was. It was one word. Simple. Unadorned.

_Unless_

"UNLESS WHAT!" he shouted through tears at the place where he had seen the guardian disappear, "Unless I listened to you? Unless I had headed your words? Unless I left when I was supposed to! Is this something I can do now? Is there anything I can do! Unless you tell me I won't know! You were right! You were right about everything! I'm human! I'm stupid! I don't know what to do! Come back! Please come back!"

He fell to his knees, no longer shouting, "Please come back... please tell me what this means..."

He let himself fall to his side, where he just lay, staring at the stone, at that word. Trying to figure out what it could possibly mean.


	14. Chapter 14

He heard the factory shutting down for the day. He heard all his employees leave, though their entrance and exit was on the other side of the building. He heard vehicles start, sputter, and eventually trail away towards the town he had built- had tried to build. But no one saw him. No one noticed him. He was free to lay there, and stare blankly at that one word, running it through his mind until it lost all meaning. It was just a jumble of letters- so like all the other letters. But it didn't mean anything. There was nothing he could do.

He was so deep in his contemplation that he didn't see her come down the stairs, didn't feel her presence or hear her call his name. He bolted with a start when she touched him to smooth his hair out of his face.

Norma. Norma had come back. She was here. He took her face in his hands, and she knelt to let him pull her into a fierce hug. There were tears freely flowing down his cheeks now, as he slowly, painfully, let her go and pulled himself to his feet.

"Did I imagine the Lorax?" He asked, his voice shaking with fear.

"The Lorax was here long before you were," she answered, "Our grandparents' grandparents told stories of the guardian of the forest. I saw him, orange and small and round- I always knew you were special. So few people see him anymore."

"They cut down our tree," he looked in the direction.

"I saw."

"I fired them."

She didn't respond.

"But it was to late. They're gone, flower-pot. All the trees are gone. All the animals are gone- even the grass and the water and look at the sky. Look at the fucking sky!" he broke down into tears again, "And my mom is gone, and my brothers, and my uncle and aunt, and all the animals. All the critters- even Melvin left me! Everyone left me." he wrapped his long, slender fingers around her shoulders, "And I need you to come upstairs with me, and sign a paper, and then I'll help you pack so you can leave me"

"I'm not leaving you, Oncie." She met his gaze, "We're not leaving you."

He either didn't hear her or didn't register it. He was leading her, grip rougher then it had ever been, up the staircase to his office. He flicked on the light and drug her to the desk before letting her go roughly in his plush chair.

"I fucked up, flower-pot," he repeated over and over during the ascent, "I fucked up bad. I killed the company. I killed the land. I killed the whole valley. And I have to make it right."

He slid the short stack of papers across the desk to her, "Legal can't leave until you sign it. I'm wracking up overtime I can't afford to pay."

She was reading as he was babbling.

"Once," she lifter her head, curls bouncing, "I can't sign this. This transfers... this is an obscene amount... this is an _imaginary_ amount of money."

"I owe so much on the town," he explained, "On theme parks and universities and theaters and housing and factory farms that if we leave it in my name, it'll all be gone in a month. Please, Norma, please... Take it all away. Help me."

His eyes were huge and pleading, he looked broken, more broken then she had ever seen him. He was bent nearly double over the desk with tears still streaming down his face. She looked down and in simple cursive wrote _Norma Wiggins_.

"Thank you, baby." He fumbled around the desk to fall to his knees and kiss her deeply, lovingly, so deeply it frightened her. He was acting so strange. "Let's get this to the boys in the legal department so they can head over to the bank." he drug her like an excited child by the hand. All they had to do was hand it over; the Once-ler smiling like he had never smiled before. Full of something she couldn't place. He was twitchy; he was... different. She was afraid of him.

"Ok," he had his hat back on now, and was leading her back toward the office, toward the lurkim, "Just take the stuff you really want. You can use the money to buy new stuff, right?" He asked as he opened the door to their living quarters.

"Oncie, why are you doing this? Why are you throwing me out?" She asked as he dug around in the closet where he kept his tools and emerged, that wild smile on his face, holding his ax.

"Shss shss shss, baby, baby," he ran his free hand down her face, staring at it as if he were trying to memorize it, as if it were the last time he may ever see her, "I'm not throwing you out. I'm not. But you don't want to be here,"

"I do!" She pleaded.

"No, no, baby, no," he explained with an eerie calm, "No, it's not safe here anymore." she glanced at the ax, gleaming in the artificial light as he said it, "It's not. You need to be somewhere safe. You're the most important. You deserve better then this. You deserve better then me."

"Once," she took a deep breath, "You're freaking me out."

"Shss, flower-pot," he pulled her close, tight, squeezing as if he wanted them to meld together, "I don't mean to. I just really need this to happen. I need to get it over with. Please, just do this one thing for me, and I swear I'll never ask you for anything ever again."

"If I leave, will you come with me?" she gazed up at him.

"If I make it." he promised, sliding his thumb and forefinger up under her chin and pulling her into another long, passionate kiss, "But only because I love you, Norma."

"Make it through what?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Unless I change something," he trailed off, looked painfully confused and tried again, "Unless I make it right... unless... unless..."

"Unless?" she asked.

"UNLESS!" he screamed, and suddenly burst into a fit of laughter, quickly followed by tears.

"Baby, you're not making any sense," she tried to reach for him, but he pushed her away.

"Please!" he begged- begged her, "Please get anything that means anything and get out before it's to late. Please!" he was sobbing uncontrollably.

"Ok, ok, Oncie. Help me pack," she said in her most soothing voice. She would do just that. Grab anything of sentimental value, pile it into her suitcase, leave, and come back with a doctor. She had to do something about him. He had lost his business, and his money, and his family- it was no wonder that his sanity was fading as quickly. Soon, her suitcase was packed, the pink thneed he had made for her draped around her shoulders like a shawl, and she was climbing into the driver's seat of the limo he had always taken. She didn't want a driver. She paused, half-way in, and turned to him, threw her arms around him, and felt him wrap around her.

"I love you," she sobbed into his tacky green coat.

"I love you" he sobbed into her curls.

"You will come to me."

"If I make it."

"You will come to me."

"Yes, flower-pot."

And she turned, climbed into the car and was gone.

He hitched the ax over his shoulder and walked with purpose, back into the factory. Through the office to his secretary's area, to the offices- down the stairs into the assembly line. And he lifted the ax above his shoulders, and struck. The apparatus he had designed to hold the run-off, the muck, was sturdy, and it took him two more whacks before it shattered and coated the floor, the machinery, everything with the schlop. He moved down the line, hacking, watching it spew everywhere. Another hack, another gush. And it was on his gloves, but he didn't care.

He started at the end, where the flow was the weakest, and worked his way up. He climbed stairs, hacking as he went. And suddenly, the supports were gone, with a crash and a bang and the pure muscle power, the elbow grease he hadn't used in so long he felt a sort of pride, and the oil flowed out, coating the entire floor, covering his boots, even reaching his coat-tails.

It was already on his gloves. He reached handfuls of it, throwing it at the walls, at the machines. He kicked and splashed like a child in a mud puddle. He grabbed gobs on the ax and threw them like golf balls. He coated the place. He splashed and slung and destroyed until he was satisfied. Then, he climbed the long staircase, back towards the offices.

Then he reached into the pockets under his lapel, where he kept his cigars.

And he pulled out a matchbox.

And carefully, so carefully, in his disgusting gloves, he struck a match.

And he threw it.

And it hit the puddle.

And the flames reached up instantly.

_A company is like an animal,_

_Trying to survive_

_It's struggling, and it's fighting_

_Just to keep itself alive_

He wasn't sure if he was singing out loud or not. All he knew was that he was going to watch it burn. Watch it burn to the ground- to ash and cinders. And it was burning.

_And the customers are buying_

_And the money multiplying_

_And the PR people lying_

_And the lawyers all denying_

He coughed. The ventilation fans were turned off. The smoke was billowing around him, choking him, suffocating him. He fled through the door behind him, not bothering to open it, electing instead to chop it down.

"_**WHO CARES**_," he screamed to himself, "_**IF THIS PLACE IS DIEING!**_" he laughed, and took the ax to the wall, running his polluted hands against one side of the hall and swinging the ax haphazardly against the other.

"**I don't want to**," he hacked through the door separating this area from a board room until it fell through, "**Hear you crying!**"

He coughed. The flames had licked up the oil he spread through the walls. This place was filling with smoke too. He headed downstairs, hacking and singing, laughing and smiling like a madman. He made it to the reception hall, smoke billowing after him, and paused a moment to hack up the receptionist's desk.

When he got to the doors, he, once again, elected to smash the glass rather then open them, and the oxygen fed the flames with renewed vigor as he yelled, "_**THIS IS ALL SO GRATIFYING!**_"

He made his way up to a small embankment, taking in the smog and the smoke from the fire, and watched his handiwork with pride. He wore a grin from ear to ear, leaned against the handle of his oil soaked ax, and suddenly burst out into a fit of laughter so boisterous and deep that it threatened to envelop him whole. He laughed until his sides hurt, and kept going. Laughed until he couldn't breath. Laughed and laughed as his factory and everything he had built burned.

Then, suddenly, it all went horribly wrong. He couldn't stop- couldn't take in any air at all. The entire valley was thick with the billowing smoke from the fire. Fear crept into his eyes as he began to cough. He let the ax drop and put his hands to his knees, trying to get whatever was in his lungs out. He succeeded, and stared at it. A pure puddle. Black and red- he looked at his hands. They were covered in blood. He screamed into the ever darkening night, terror overtaking him as he realized what he had done.

The flames were so high it would have been impossible not to see him from town. Could you get in trouble for burning your own shit? Could- god his eyes were stinging- where were his sunglasses? He couldn't draw in a breath of anything even resembling air. He backed away but the smoke followed him. Why had he thought this was a good idea?

Because it had to be done. Because he had to kill it. He had to kill the monster.

And the monster- pride, greed-whatever it was, was in the factory.

He was stumbling. The air was dead, and it was wrapping itself around him, everything tingled, everything was different... but not wrong really. This was how it was. This was how it was supposed to be. He choked, and his body refused to let up as he coughed up again. That same mixture of black vile and phlegm and blood poured from his lungs and he filled them again with smoke. It didn't matter. There was a strange calm wrapping itself around him as he stumbled, blind through stinging eyes, toward the road. His body ached, every cell within it ached, begging for air.

But he wasn't good enough for air.

The monster wasn't in the factory.

The monster was inside him.

And now the smoke was to. And his body burned and burst and he could fight it no more. He fell to his knees, then his stomach, his face hitting the dirt with a thud. He would have crawled, but his arms refused to move. There was nothing left to do but wait. Wait for the tingling that had engulfed him to stop. Wait for it to all fade to black. The end. The end of a horrible man with a horrible idea who did horrible things.

Just lie here and wait.

He looked strait ahead.

It would be here. He would die here. In his line of sight was that damned sculpture. That word that would be forever burned into his memory- the last thing he saw.

_Unless_.


	15. Chapter 15

Monsters came out of the haze of smoke and fog, after him. Metal clinging to their faces, bright red and yellow skin- axes and strange devices he didn't recognize. He watched them through stinging eyes, his senses fading. He heard their cries as if they were far away and underwater.

"Tell his wife we found him!" One shouted over the roar of the flames and some sort of screeching siren, "Get the EMTs over here and look for anyone else!"

EMT... he had heard that before somewhere...

"Get an EMT **now**!" the shouting continued, "Smoke inhalation! He's not breathing!"

"Why the FUCK would someone do this?" the other creature asked and he felt himself being lifted and transported, hauled into some kind of vehicle-

These creatures were different. All bright lights and shiny and white. It would have reminded him of heaven, if not for the pain and the pricks up his arms, and the air- air- suddenly, he fought for breath again. There was a mask over his mouth and nose, and he coughed into it, coating it with that layer of black and red, and suddenly he could push himself onto his arms.

"shit," he heard one of the white creatures mutter, and the mask was gone, and a clean one was suddenly over his face, "Mr. Once-ler, we're going to need you to lie still. We're just giving you a little something to make you sleep."

His gloves were gone, his jacket was gone. What the hell were they doing? But he lay back down, and drifted, aimlessly, through a world of nightmares.

When he woke up, everything was quiet. Everything was clean, too clean, more pure then he was used to. His chest hurt so badly that moving was agonizing. There were... things strapped to him everywhere, all kinds of tubing leading to machines- his arms, his left hand, his face... He reached to the tube that was connected to his face and was shocked to realize that it went through his nose _inside_ him- air. He slowly realized where he was, and it dawned on him- the thing, whatever it was, was breathing for him. Left arm- IV- slowly dripping something into him, keeping him alive. Left hand, some kind of monitor, hooked up to some kind of machine... hospital. They had saved him. Why would they do that?

He moved his head, slowly, painfully, his chest protesting as he tried to pull himself up with his right arm. And he felt something else, something amazing. Those soft, auburn curls were spilled across his lap. Norma was resting, her head buried in his lap, leaning from a chair she had pulled up as close as possible to his bed. He ran that hand through her hair, ignoring the pain, and she mumbled a little, before turning to him.

"Oncie!" she grabbed the hand, and wrapped her other arm around him in a hug, careful not to hurt him, "You scared the shit out of me! The doctors were saying that your lungs had scar tissue, and that your had no oxygen in your blood! That they weren't sure you were going to make it! Why the hell would you do that to me?"

"I'm... sorry," he said weakly, and fell back. He was still winded- it felt impossible to keep any air in his lungs, "You.. came back for me, flower-pot?" he asked with tears in his eyes, the pain in his chest becoming unbearable as it rose and fell.

"Of course I did!" she said soothingly, running her fingertips across his face.

"Why?" he asked, the tears overflowing, "Why couldn't you just let," another deep breath, "let me die?"

"Oncie," she tried, but he turned from her, crying into the pillow- which he realized was a thneed. And suddenly, anger welled in him again. Fucking thneeds. A stupid thing that no one really needs. He wanted to get rid of it, to rip it away. But he couldn't. He was to weak.

Norma tried again, "You don't get to die, Oncie." She explained, "I need you here."

"Mr. Once-ler," a doctor was standing in the doorway, and Once and Norma both turned to him, "Your monitor showed that you've finally woken up. Welcome back. We were afraid we had lost you."

Once made the effort to push himself up on his elbows. Maybe he could fake healthy enough to get out of there.

"Takes more then that," he was wheezing, "How long until I can fucking breath again?"

"Could be anywhere from a few hours until a few days." The doctor explained, "That was a severe case of smoke damage- you have scar tissue developing on your lungs. It's no wonder though, that whole valley was engulfed in flames. We had to put air purifiers in all the buildings- this place is actually packed. And you were standing right in the source. It's actually amazing that you're alive at all. Someone up there must be watching out for you, Mr. Once-ler."

"Can I take this out?" he asked, tugging on the tubing that went through his nose and annoyed the hell out of him.

"Now that you're awake, we can replace it with a mask," the doctor explained, "But you'll probably need to be on oxygen for a few weeks-"

"A few weeks? No. No. Absolutely not. Fuck that! I want this out now!" he hissed.

"Oncie," Norma begged, "Lie down and rest."

"You'll also need to take some breathing treatments," the doctor explained.

"The fuck is that?" he asked, growing more upset by the moment.

"Just some medication, to help your lungs learn to expand again. They had collapsed." the doctor explained, "Now that you're awake, I've had a nurse preparing the machine while we talked. She'll be here any minute now, and she'll walk you through how to administer them yourself, at home. We're also going to give you some pain medication for the soreness in your chest. That'll take a few days to fade as well."

"Of course it will," Once mumbled, more to himself then the doctor. Why the hell had they saved him? Was it to much to ask to die with dignity, in the fire he had set? To go down with his ship? Now what did he have? No money, no family, no business, no home. Nothing. He was worse then he was before. Alone and in debt- and he had destroyed the valley, the forest, the stream and the sky- and now the air was so overrun with smog and smoke that the buildings had to install air purifiers? That was fucking ridiculous. He was going to kill off all the humans at this rate.

Norma squeezed his hand as a woman around their age came to the other side of his bed.

"I need you to sit up as strait as you can, Mr. Once-ler," she advised, supporting his back and angling the bed until he was in a sitting position. Then, she went about carefully removing the tube that, it turns out, was much longer then he had anticipated. Looking at it afterwords, he realized that it went all the way to his lungs. The thought, for some reason, made him nauseous. He coughed up again, and she handed him a towel. Not black and red anymore- there were specks, but it looked more like normal mucus. Still gross. But at least it didn't look as deadly.

"Alright, Mr. Once-ler," she explained, hooking a mask behind his head, over his nose and mouth, and setting up a small machine on the bed with him, "these packets are your medication. Once a day, you need to insert one like this," she slid a cylinder of liquid into the side of the machine, threw the empty cylinder into the trash can, and sealed the chamber, "turn it on, and inhale as deeply as you can for about 10 minutes." She flipped a switch, and the small machine buzzed to life with a loud hum. Instantly, the mask was filled with a vapor- that actually smelled delicious. He took a deep breath, and felt it stay down. His lungs expanded, and hurt less with every breath.

He could see the nurse speaking with Norma, but he couldn't hear them over the machine. After what seemed like an eternity, she came over and switched the thing off, replacing it with another set of tubes, though this one only went around his head, not inside him, pumping oxygen at him that he was able to feel. His chest felt lighter. He felt... better.

"Any questions, Mr. Once-ler?" she asked.

"I um... I think," he said without pain, "I'm good."

"Excelent. If your oxygen level stays high, the doctor may discharge you. You can ask him when he makes his rounds."

"Don't you **ever**," Norma scolded after she had gone, "Do something that stupid again."

"I know," he sighed.

"We can fix this, Once. I've got the money now. No one's gonna come after you. You didn't need to burn the damn house down." She ran a hand over his hair, down his face, petting him as if he were an animal.

"Yes, flower-pot," he sighed, "I did. I really did. I can't explain it, but it needed to happen."

"Well," she picked up his hand and kissed it, "It happened, all right. Most of the factory was destroyed, collapsed into itself. The lurkim still stands- kind of, but it's without support, and leaning all weird, and there's so much smoke damage..." she kissed his hand again and took a deep breath, "It's pretty clear that you did it. But the lawyers say that it's not illegal to burn your own house down, as long as there's no fire damage to anyone else's property. You own it, so you can burn it down if you want to. The cops want to know if you want an investigation."

"The house is still standing?" he asked, eyes wide, "How?"

"I dunno," she answered, "It's the only thing that is."

"Damn," he sighed and leaned back, "I'm an awesome carpenter."

"It won't stand if someone were to walk around in it, it's been burnt pretty bad. Strong wind would knock it over," she explained.

"Still, though."

"I'm so glad to have you back, baby." she reached down and kissed his lips, and he pulled his arms around her and dragged her down, across his aching chest.

"I'm not back, Norma," he said when she was in her seat again and he could lean back against his vertical mattress, "I've got to do something to make up for all this. For everything I've destroyed... I can't just... let it be."

"Worry about it when you can breath again," she soothed, running her hand down his face,

He looked out the window, at the smog covered skies, at the smoke that wouldn't leave. _When he could breath again_.


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn't his guitar. It wasn't his house. He didn't want to go outside, because the last time he had, there had been photographers and people with microphones, and a pure mob of angry people with the same question.

_Why?_

Why did he take away their jobs? Why did he destroy his business? Why did he burn down the factory? Why did he destroy the air? Why did he kill everything? Didn't he care about the people who worked there? Didn't he understand that they needed that money? Didn't he know what would happen now that it was gone?

He strummed the guitar Norma had bought him.

"_Do you remember the Once-ler?_

_Finally drove the world away..._

_Turning all the things we lived for..._

_Turned the sky from blue to gray..."_

"Oncie, stop," Norma hissed

"_Never seemed to notice_

_The things we find appalling_

_Smiling as the first_

_Truffila tree was falling,"_

"_Oncie," _She grabbed the guitar from him, "STOP it. I got you this so that you could heal- not lament! That's depressing."

He turned to gaze out the window at the city he had built. The purifier humming alongside him. He thought he had earned the right to be depressing.

"Are you going to work?" he asked, without looking at her. When she didn't respond he continued, "You don't have to. I know the mob hates you to... for being with me. We could leave. We should go to Nod or somewhere... Well, you should. I should stay here and face them."

"Actually, I'm going to meet with your old legal department, I've hired some of them." She sat down next to him, "Oncie... eat. Something. I made pancakes because I thought you liked them."

"I do... I'm just... I can't eat right after I breath that thing."

"Oncie..."

"They attacked me, Norma, and you wouldn't let them kill me. I was dieing in that fire, and you wouldn't let it kill me. I don't want to fucking eat, ok! I think I've earned the right to decide what I put in my fucking body!" he suddenly turned to face her, "And where the hell did you put my cigars?"

"I honestly don't remember," she sighed, "But it's stupid to take oxygen and then smoke. That's just... yeah, stupid."

"_Listen to me_!" he begged, his voice raspy, "my throat and my lungs are already fucked. Let me smoke!"

"As I was saying," she ignored his plea, "You might want to come with me. They think they've found a buyer for all that half-finished construction. The boy who makes the air purifiers has made a pretty penny and wants to branch out. You won't make a fortune, but you'll be out of the red, and with the money you gave me, we'll be set!"

"That's great," he tried to muster as much enthusiasm as he could, "That's wonderful, flower-pot! Money..."

"Oncie," she pleaded.

"I know. I'm... trying. I swear I am," he took her hand in his, "But I don't want to go. I can't face people right now. Please... sell everything except the land and the house. I want that. Sell everything else if you want, have them draw up the papers and I'll sign them. Just please don't make me go."

She took a deep breath. "Alright. If that's what you really want. Just promise me that you'll be alright while I'm gone."

"I don't break promises to you, flower-pot," he said as he kissed her goodbye. If she had asked the guardian of the forest, she would have known how little his promises were worth.

After she left, he pulled on a pair of his trademark green gloves, and a green coat. He pulled the hood down low, and hoped against hope that in the smog and darkness that now accompanied even the brightest day, no one would notice him. He headed out the back of the small, inconspicuous house Norma had picked for them, and across tidy, manicured lawns that were losing their luster, lack of sunlight, most likely, until he hit a sidewalk. He kept going, good pace, don't run, don't draw attention- until he did it. He made it out of town. The smog was so thick it blocked viability- he could only see a few feet in front of him. But he knew the way.

It took him hours to walk there, to the factory. His lungs were burning and his breath came in shallow rasps that stabbed him as his chest rose and fell. There was no air- only the smog. But it was his. It was what he deserved. Poison in his scarred lungs and stinging eyes. His home towered above him- rickety as Norma has said, but he was light, and he wondered if, if he were careful, he could make it to his tool closet.

He opened the door on the ground floor carefully, and it gave way with a creek. That made sense. Doorways were the most sturdy structures in a house. The stairs would be the problem. The smoke damage was obvious. Everything was covered in a layer of soot. The walls were blackened, and white ash moved around him every time he took a step.

Careful.

But he made it. Across shaking, creaky boards and over uneven, damaged flooring, he made it to the closet, and retrieved a toolbox. Good. Start with the bottom floor, repair structural damage, and work his way up. He could do this. It would take a while, working by himself, but it could be done. Now to hit the factory and see what could be salvaged in terms of wood and building materials.

He found his ax on the little hill before the factory right where he had left it. It was still covered in the sticky, sloppy oil, but he picked it up anyway. Most of the wood was gone- it was white, and it looked fine, but when he touched it, it crumbled in a surreal, horrible display and blew away in the foal-smelling wind. But there were things that had survived. Metal that hadn't melted, or had melted and cooled to a different shape, wood that hadn't been completely damaged- truffila wood was tough stuff, after all. He gathered what he could and made his way back to his lurkim. To lurk. And to work.

It was near midnight by the time he made it back to Norma, sweaty, covered in sawdust and that damned oil that was so hard to get off. She had been sitting on the couch, pretending to watch TV when he opened the door, but she let out a gasp and jumped when she saw him.

"You've got to stop scaring me, Oncie," she demanded, her arms firmly around him.

"Yeah... yeah, I know," he wrapped his around her and pulled her close. "I um... I been out at the factory- at the house."

"Wait, did you walk out there?" she asked, shocked.

"Yeah... I used to walk it all the time." he sounded far away.

"Why would you do that?" she asked, "Go back there, I mean?"

"I wanted to see the house still standing like you said."

She buried her face into his coat and left it at that.

The next morning, he signed the papers, signed away all his debt and the last of the things he had thought he owned. He was no longer the owner of Thneedville. It didn't seem to phase him as much as Norma had thought it would. He did it robotically, like he had been when she saw him sitting at that desk, made of truffila wood, scratching away at paperwork that it was obvious bored him. She left to take it to her legal department, he left to work on his house.

Soon, he was gone more and more. He took to coming home later and later, leaving Norma deathly afraid that he would be jumped again. But no one seemed to notice him. He was slowly growing out a mustache, to farther disguise himself, she figured, and she was growing out in a way it was becoming impossible to disguise. She didn't know what to do. She knew that she needed to tell him- he wasn't stupid, he would figure it out, but he was so fragile right now that she didn't know how he would take the news. So what was to be done?

One night, around three in the morning, he stumbled into the house, as triumphantly as one could stumble.

"I've done it," he announced, amazed that she was still awake and waiting on him, though it happened every night no matter the hour. "I've finished my house."

"Our house?" she asked hopefully, knowing the answer.

"Flower-pot," he sat down next to her, the slid his body so that he was laying on her, head buried in her shoulder, "I love you."

She kissed that dark mane of his and replied, "I love you, Once."

"You deserve better," he explained.

"Once..."

"I'm not going to stay here and hold you back. I won't let you become hated. I'm sorry, Norma, but you're not going to be known as the wife of a monster." he was sobbing now, then coughing, then sobbing more. There was no way that being out in that smog was good for him- he was supposed to be on breathing treatments, "So I'm... tomorrow I'm..." he broke down, "Packing... and I'm..." he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face so that his words were muffled, "Leaving. I'm going out to the lurkim... and I'm going to stay there until I figure out how to fix this... until I figure out what it means..."

"Once you can't do that!" she pulled him up to gaze into his bloodshot eyes, "You can't. I have something important to tell you- something I was going to tell you the night you burnt down the factory- but then you burnt down the factory... I'm-"

"Nothing you can say," he explained, "Could make me stay."

"Pregnant," she finished.

"What?" he asked. And for the briefest moment, she saw the life in those tired blue eyes that she recognized, that she knew. But it faded just as quickly, and the tears were back. "No," he whispered, then repeated with growing resolve, "no no no no no... That's can't... you can't... I can't have a child... in _this_... this wasteland I created... no... please, no." He let go of her and buried his head in his hands, sorrow overtaking him, "No, god, no..."

"I thought..." she paused. What had she thought? That he would be happy? Nothing was going to make him happy at this point. She should have known better. At the very least, she thought it might make him stay, or that he deserved to know.

"Well, it's happening whether you want it to or not," she said sternly, "This is a thing now, and we have to deal with it."

"Please, flower-pot," he looked up at her with those pleading eyes, "I'm begging you. Please take the money and go somewhere where the grass is still green and the sky is still blue and the water is still wet. Please! Please leave this place and make a life for yourself."

"With you?"

"No child deserves the fate of having me as a father," he said it flatly. He wasn't saying it out of sorrow- he firmly believed it to be a fact.

"Once-"

"I don't even want the poor little thing to _know_ it's connected to me- promise me, flower-pot," he took her hands in his, "Promise me that you'll never tell it what a horrible person its daddy was. Promise me that... I don't know, think of something. Make something up. I can't think of anything worse then the truth. Don't tell it that it's father destroyed your home, put people out of work, killed an ecosystem... please. No child needs to know that."

"Once," she gazed into his eyes, those sincere, stubborn eyes, "You're really going to leave me?"

"I have to," he sobbed, "You have to get on with your life." He slid a hand down to envelop her womb, "Your... lives."

"Once- I'm not leaving. If you won't let me stay with you, I'll still come out there. I'll still see you. You can change the locks, you can do what you want, but you won't get rid of me." She pulled him closer.

"You stubborn bitch," he sighed.

"You egocentric dick," she replied.

He returned her vice-like grip and they stayed like that, locked in that embrace for a long time. It was Norma who pulled away first, held his hands in hers, and gazed up, into his face. He returned it lovingly, believing that, finally, she understood.

"Please though..." he begged, "Don't come out there until the baby comes. Please. It's all poison."

"I don't want you in it." she countered, squeezing his hand.

"But I deserve it."

"Once-"

"I do. You know it."

She felt tears welling in her eyes as she pulled him in for another embrace.


	17. Chapter 17

He didn't recognize the man he saw in the mirror. His dark hair had become salt and peppered with streaks of silver. His eyes were lined, and shrouded in dark circles. He had always been thin, but it seemed that now the flesh barely clung to him. It might have been morning. It didn't matter. It had been weeks- or months since he had inflicted his own exile. He lived out his sentence as simply and meekly as he could, surrounded by the desolation he had created.

The top two floors of the building- the space that had once been a living area and an office, were all he knew now. Nearly all the windows had been broken as people from town had taken it upon themselves to show him how they felt about his decision to close the factory. He didn't blame them. Nor did he replace the windows. He simply boarded them up and carried on. It wasn't as if he was getting any sunshine anyway.

But the damage was going to destroy the house he had built, and he didn't have an unlimited supply of building materials. Something had to be done. So he assembled the ax hackers as a sort of perimeter around the house, in a circle, that one would have to cross. They were still in good shape, and the axes were still sharp, so it was a deterrent, anyway. As the months wore on, he fought the madness that solitude brought by creating more traps for anyone who wished to intrude on his exile. He deserved it, but he couldn't let them kill him. He would decide his death, when and if it became necessary.

The barren bottom floors had become storage. He had bought up cans and dried goods, enough food to last half a century or more if he rationed it. And he never received visitors. If he did, they were only people with a score to settle. But even those were becoming fewer and fewer. They had a new idol now, and as he faded from the covers of magazines and ad-spots, so did he fade from their memories. He wasn't particularly worried about them anyway. Neither of their opinion or their survival. He had brought them there. He had built them up. They owed him.

But he owed the Earth. And so every day he went across his land, walked the length of it, with the water purified in town and pumped in through pipes sprinkling the ground in the hopes that something would happen. He must have planted thousands of those seeds, but nothing grew. There was nothing left. The ground was hard, uncaring and ungiving. There were no animals to fertilize it. And his farm-boy upbringing told him that the topsoil was gone- from the damn ax hackers, no doubt- and his brother's muddin', and all the other horrible decisions he had made. And even if the soil weren't depleted, there was just no sun.

He gazed skyward, at the smog that never lifted. There was no breeze gusting through those soft branches, no sweet-scent given off by their pollen. No cries of the swammy-swans or songs of the humming-fish. It was hard to breath. And nothing was growing. But it didn't stop him. He kept planting, and he kept watering.

And that led him here. He had been through the remains of his factory, down to the tuff inspection where the seeds were collected, and somehow, he had planted all of them. This was the last batch. And most of them were fire damaged- roasted. They would have been delicious had he not let them rot. But as they were, they were useless. He thought that he could maybe spread them for fertilizer, but it didn't seem to be working. Still, it was something. He had to do something.

The last of them. He paused, the last viable seed in his hand. The very last one. Like the last tree. The tree that Norma had scared the hell out of him under. The tree that he had been caught making love to her under. The last one. And suddenly, he couldn't plant it. He undid a secret compartment in his glove and slipped the seed inside. He needed a reminder.

He missed her so badly it physically hurt. He prayed that she had come to her senses and moved to greener pastures, to better places. He told himself that he hoped she had found someone else, someone better. A better father for their- _her_, he corrected himself- a better father for _her _child, a better partner for herself. Someone who would be there, who would watch over her. But every time he tried to convince himself of that wish, something pained him in the pit of his stomach and he knew it was jealousy. He didn't want it there, but there it was nonetheless.

He went back to spreading his make-shift fertilizer.

He awoke to a knock at the door.

Great. More fucking kids from town. More people who hated him and wanted him hurt or worse. They had made it past the machines and were here to fuck with him. He wasn't stupid enough to open the door. Instead, he made his way to the boarded up window closest to the bed and yelled out in his raspy voice.

"GO AWAY!"

"Oncie?" He knew the voice. Norma. Norma was here! What the hell was she doing out in this smog and her pregnant?

He rushed down the stairs. "Just a minute, flower-pot!" he yelled, hands moving across machinery, moving it away from the door. As soon as it was cleared of his traps, he threw it wide and she leaped into his arms. He was so taken aback that it took him a good minute to wrap his arms back around her, to touch her and understand that it was real- that she was really there.

"Come- come upstairs. I'll turn the purifier on and... you shouldn't be out in this... um... weather... in... your condition..." he moved the machinery back to the door as he spoke, "Though... you do... um... look remarkably... you look... amazing... especially for someone... in... in... um... your condition..."

"I had the baby a month ago, Once," she explained. "I didn't want to bring her out here because it can't be good on her lungs. She's with ma back in town. And ma wasn't happy about me coming out here."

"I should say not- no one should be happy about you coming out here." He led her to the stairwell, though she knew the way, "Wait, did you say 'she'? It's a girl... a... daughter..." His eyes were misting up."

"Yeah, Once," she coughed into her sleeve and he ushered her into the sitting room, turned the dial as the purifier hummed to life, "You have a daughter and a fiance who need you. Come back to us."

He was putting a kettle on the stove. "Norma..." he sighed, "You would have that poor girl live... look at this place." he gestured to the boarded up windows, "Do you know why it's like that? Because people throw stones at me! Do you know why I have all these contraptions? All these traps? Because people want me dead. There is blood on my hands, Norma, and I deserve everything they give. I'm a monster." He had his back turned to her, toward the stove, but she could hear the sob welling up in his chest.

"You aren't a monster, Oncie," she said it quietly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.

He measured out some coffee in the strainer and poured two cups. He sat across from her and she noticed that he no longer afforded himself the liberties of satisfying his sweet tooth, though he fished out the sugar and honey for her. He drank his black. He stared into the cup, shaking. Finally, she could take the sorrow no longer, and reached for his hand. When she did, he clasped it, grateful for the human touch, grateful for _her _touch.

"What did you name her?" he asked.

"Helen. After my grandmother. And because I just liked it. I was kind of hoping for a boy. I was going to go with 'Twice'."

"You wouldn't really do that to a child?" he asked shocked.

"I would if I thought it would make you come back."

"You're insane!" he laughed into his coffee, mustache wiggling.

"Oncie, you gave up the right to call anyone insane."

"I suppose I did."

They sipped their coffee for a few minutes before she got up the nerve to ask again, "You won't even come into town and see your daughter."

"Please, Norma," he begged, his bloodshot, deep blue eyes brimming with tears again, "It's best if you... don't burden her with me. I contributed something, right? The um..." he thought for a moment, "The money, maybe? You can send her to the best schools and get her the best things, and you won't have to work... God, Norma, it wasn't an easy decision. Do you think I want this? To be alone, to know that my daughter will grow up without me? When I lost my father... it was one of the hardest things that I ever went through... And I know that if I go back, someone- someone I've wronged, someone I've pissed off- is going to kill me. And... I... I can't..."

He lost all semblance of composure. He fell across the table, weeping like a child.

"She has your button nose." Norma told him, reaching for his hand and holding it tight, "Your freckles. My curls, but they're dark. She's beautiful. I brought you something." She fished around in her purse with her free hand, and he reached down to take what she offered. A picture. A picture of Helen, wrapped in a thneed, of all things, and looking as content as ever a child could look. She was awake, beautiful, giant brown eyes like her mother staring into the camera. Staring at him.

"She's gorgeous," he whispered. "She's far to good for me." Even through his tears, Norma's presence assured him enough to joke. "You sure she's mine?" he jabbed at her.

"What will it take to get you to come back to us?"

"If you're still there when I finish serving my penance..." he trailed off. "Don't wait for me, Norma. You're so much better then that. Find someone you can love. Find a life you can be happy with. I'm a dead man who just hasn't crossed over yet. For all real purposes..." he took a deep breath, "I don't exist."

"That's how it's going to be, then?" She asked.

He was staring at the picture of their daughter- his beautiful daughter that he would never hold, never sing to, never teach to knit, never wake up early to make breakfast for, or stay up late to heal... This was the pain he knew he deserved. This was the pain that the animals felt when they watched their loved ones starve to death at his hands. This was the pain that the people who depended on the factory felt when he jerked their livelihood away. This was the pain that the Lorax felt when his homeland was murdered before his eyes.

"Oncie- unless you come to your senses- you're going to go crazy up here!"

"If you come out here to visit me again," he stood, and she rose with him, "I don't want you screaming in that poison. It's a good way to hurt yourself. I've got a bucket set up so I can haul stuff up here from the ground instead of having to dredge it through the house. We need a code... bring me... 15 cents. Remember that first day we went out and no one was buying my thneed, and I was 15 cents short? It's not a lot for you now. Bring me 15 cents."

"People are going to figure that out, Once. You're going to get attacked with that attitude... I know that you're afraid. I know why. But people will forget. I promise."

"15 cents and... a nail... and... one of those snails. The only thing besides the crows I ever see living out here."

She rolled her eyes. "That is so you. But it's a good code. Fifteen cents, and a nail, and the shell of a great-great grandfather snail... Once- please. Please come back with me."

"We have to heal," he said, as if it explained everything.

"I love you," she said, pleading.

"I love you, flower-pot." he pulled her into an embrace, "That's why... why it has to be like this."

He would never tell her that he lurked, behind her, out of sight, watching. He followed her until he was sure that she had slipped, unharmed, through the gates of Thneedville safe. It wasn't just a gate anymore. The kid he had sold the property to was building a huge wall around the city- possibly to keep the gloom out. Or something else. Maybe there was someone the people wanted kept out. He mulled it over on his way home. Among other things.

What did it mean?

_Unless_.


	18. Chapter 18

Most of the wood in the factory had either turned a pale white, into a chalk-like substance, or a dark black, like charcoal. The Once-ler could no longer go for long periods of time speaking, it always sounded like he had insects in his nose and throat from all the scarring- his lungs and throat had already been damaged, and he had no idea how long he had been out in his sanctuary (prison) and as there was no one around to hear him or care what he had to say, it seemed rather pointless to go through the pain that speaking out loud actually entailed. So this morning, like every other, he stood with a cup of bitter coffee, a piece of the make-shift charcoal in his hand, staring at the wall in the lower floor of his lurkim, where he kept his supplies.

An oil lamp burned near him, casting shadows flickering up the walls, the walls that were already lined as far as the man could reach in white and black, sentences or fragments that all began with the same word. Some were crossed out, some were circled, but they all pieced together logically only inside the head of one man- the man who stood clad in green and pink, tall and dangerously thin, with his cup and his chalk, on a step ladder, to give himself more room to write.

And he began another sentence.

_Unless you mix nitrate into the solution in the worm box, the fertilizer will do no good._

_Unless you manage to find a way to get the lights to give of UA and UV_- he crossed this one out.

_Unless you wrap the seeds_- no, that was stupid, he could get them to sprout, couldn't get them to grow. Cross that one out to.

_Unless you find fresh air_- that one had potential. He circled it. Maybe if he dug up some seeds, planted them indoors, in front of the purifier and with the sunlamps... That was a decent idea. One decent idea a day was better then none.

He stepped down, picked up the ladder, and moved it a few feet to a fresh part of the wall.

_Unless-_ he began.

"Give it up, beanpole." the man refused to turn in the direction of the voice. He knew what he would find, and he knew it wasn't real. He filtered the bitter coffee through his mustache and kept writing.

_Unless I get enough fertilizer in the right mixture to fix the topsoil..._

"ONCE-LER!" The voice rang out again- not his voice, no- it was melodic and smooth, the voice of a man who had not been inhaling chemicals on a sour wind for... it must have been years now.

"You aren't real and I have no inclination to speak with you," the thin man choked out between drinks.

"I'm not real!" The voice was angry, "I'm more real then you are, you disgusting old hermit! Spending all your time down here trying to find out what that little fur-ball meant! FUCK HIM! He couldn't give you a strait fucking answer- he left just like the rest of them! He didn't give a shit about you! For all his talk, he didn't even give a shit about this land, or he would've fought for it! He didn't do shit! I'm real! I'm human! I'm a success! I'm a fucking MILLIONAIR!"

"You're an idiot," the older man said simply.

_Unless I can clear the cloud-cover_- no, that one was stupid- cross it out.

"Get down here," the voice behind him barked, "Sit down. Have a drink and a cigar, and let's count our money, cut our losses, and go somewhere- somewhere nice and warm and bright." the voice had softened near the end, "I'm the idiot... you don't even know what year it is."

"What does it matter?" he asked, tapping the chalk.

_Unless... unless... unless..._

"Sit." the voice was almost pleading.

The old man turned, and stumbled off the ladder, across the supplies, to the dim lamp-light and overturned boxes. On one of them sat a thin man, an apparition, in shades of green, spotless in the dismal surroundings, drinking a cup of coffee that didn't exist and speaking through vocal chords made of either. The man turned a box of something- wheat, maybe?-right side up and took a seat next to figment.

"Happy now?" he asked.

"It doesn't mean anything, you know," the ghost ran his fingertips along the back of the older man's hand, and he swore he felt them, "He's trying to drive you mad. And it's working. We need to go somewhere. We need to get outside- not into that gloom, but somewhere where we can collect ourselves. If we don't... you're going to die here. Sad and alone."

"I deserve it." he said simply, sitting down his empty cup.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what we deserve- we still have the money. You didn't give every cent to... her. We have enough to go somewhere, to retire in peace and forget this dreadful place- forget that awful night." he shuddered.

"Do you really think I could ever forget?" The Once-ler stared at the man- stared through the man.

"With enough alcohol, you would be amazed what we could forget."

"You are a horrible conscious." The Once-ler waved a hand dismissively.

"I'm not your fucking conscious., old man!" It snapped back.

"Then what are you?"

"The fuck should I know? I think you're going fucking crazy- I think you've bottled yourself up here too long, went too long without talking to anyone, and now you're hallucinating. I'm not your fucking conscious., I'm your... fuck, I don't know. Call me the voice of reason." he stood, waving his arms and zig-zagging through the food and soap and whatnot strewn about the floor, "And this is an unreasonable way to live. You're going to kill us all."

"I don't care."

"I DO!" It turned to him with wild, pleading eyes, "I don't want to die! I don't want to shrivel up and waste away like the seeds your plant in that barren ground! I'm to good for that- I built schools and hospitals and donated to charities and helped orphans and parents and children and homeless folk and I do NOT deserve to die, alone in a hovel of regret and shame! I won't fucking go out like this!"

"Leave him alone, you greedy son'o bitch." There was a sound wafting through the air, a guitar chord that became a melody, slowed down, distorted, as if he couldn't find a rhythm.

"Get the fuck out!" the man in green, the apparition hissed, "You're nothing but trouble for me!"

"_Do you remember the Once-ler?__  
__Who saw the world that he designed__  
Lookin__' from an empty factory,__  
__The nothing that he left behind,"_

"**SHUT THE FUCK UP!**"

"_Finally seemed to notice_

_The things we found appalling_

_Crying as the final_

_Truffila was falling!"_

"**You can't listen to him!**" The apparition shouted, "**If we listen to him, we really will go mad!**"

"We're all already mad, here." The old man said, and shrugged off the invisible burden on his shoulders, and went back to work.

"**I hate you**!" the man in green was sliding through the debris now, to the source of the guitar, "**I've hated you since the moment I set eyes on you! Everyone hates you! You're the reason that ma left us! You're the reason that we're all alone! You were too weak! You were too stupid!**"

"_Lead the world and heal tomorrow,_

_Knowing we can always,_

_Run to higher ground,_

_Same day, different story,"_

The apparition was towering over another ghost, this one clad in a drab gray who seemed to be ignoring him, slumped over an old, acoustic guitar with a fedora pulled over his face, obscuring it. His fingers moved quickly, lightly, and expertly, his voice flowed beautifully, effortlessly, without the rasp of either of his counterparts, the voice of one who was fed on fresh air and laughter, on music and fresh water.

"**You destroyed everything! You should have planned better! There were a thousand ways to do things better then how you did them! You've doomed us all!**"

"_When we play, but now we borrow,_

_Falling falling falling-_

_And there's no one left around!_" he continued to strum without looking up, _"And there's no one left around._"

"**Are you just going to let him do this**!" The ghost in green turned back to the old man, who was staring at the wall, scratching his chin.

_Unless..._he wrote, and struggled to continue.

Suddenly, the ghost in gray jerked its head up, much younger, much more enthusiastic then his companions, but unmistakably the same. "_NA NA NA NA NA NA,_

_Look, there's some circling birds, _

_I bet you that they're gonna eat our corpses._

_Then the worms will come out of the ground,_

_And then some other little critter is gonna make furniture out of our bones_

_And sit on it_

_And have lovely dinners!"_

"I can kill him," the man, the ghost, in green was standing, leering over his younger self, "If you give me the word, he will be dead and we'll be sitting beside a crystal-clear pool in the forest of Nool sipping wine to refuel and never think of this ghoul."

"_AND THIS WHOLE THING IS GOING TO BE A DISASTER!_

_NANANANANANANANANANA!"_

"He's the only thing keeping us here!" the ghost in green glared, hissing through clenched teeth.

The Once-ler moved the stool again, leaving a wide breath from the beginning of his sentence and, a space to be filled in later, and continued to write.

_Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back._

"Unless... something something..." he muttered to himself, "Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back..."

"Let me kill him." The ghost was beginning to look less and less like a man. It's teeth were narrowed to sharp points, and even under the gloves, one could see the sharp claws forming, "Let me destroy it. Let's be happy. Let's be on top of the world, like we once were."

"_When the sky was still blue,_

_And the grass was still green,_

_And the water was still wet,_

_And the air was still clean_."

"**Let me kill it**," the apparition begged, it's eyes glowing with an otherworldly green.

And something happened. There was a noise. A shout. It was different. It seemed... real.

"_**Be quiet, both of you!**_" the older man hissed, and they both fell silent. The guitar stopped mid-strum, and three pairs of eyes turned upwards.

It was knocking. No one had knocked on his door in so long... The man turned and bolted up the stairs. He heard screaming. Something had set off his traps. But it wasn't a shriek of an assailant. It was a child. He knew it was a child. A boy- a little boy with a high-pitched shriek of fear. He made his way to the kitchen window and peered down. A bob of brown hair, standing on the porch. He had knocked off the railing. That's what had scared him- why he had screamed. Why the hell was there a child out here by himself in the middle of nowhere? What was he doing out here, alone? Was he lost? Was he in danger? Oh shit- no kid- don't ring the doorbell!

Thank god, the child was fast, so he wasn't flattened by the trap, but the hammer his a lose floorboard and sent the light child flying skyward. Stupid fucking kid- the Once-ler thought fast, and extended a lever, catching the child in mid-fall and saving him from injury. The boy was screaming, pure terror in his eyes, but he couldn't just let him fall, he had bounced four stories into the air. He shouldn't leave him dangling upside down by his pants either, so the old man reached for him, panic in his voice as he asked the first question he had asked another human being in years.

"Who are you?" He asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking, and as a result it came out much angrier then he had intended, "Who are you? What are you doing here!"

"I'M TED! I'M TED!" The boy used all the leverage he could muster to pull away from him, "Please... are- are you the Once-ler?"

The old man blinked. So the child was here on purpose. Looking for him? Why would he do that? This place was dangerous. This place was poisonous.

"Didn't you read the signs?" He asked- he had put up signs for that very reason. This was no place for children- this was no place for anyone. "No one is supposed to come here! You need to get out of here!" he lowered the lever, sending the child safely to the ground and added, as an afterthought, "...And leave me alone."

"What?" The boy asked from the ground, regaining a bit of his composure, "Listen... people say that if you bring them this stuff, you'll tell them about the trees! The real ones! That grow out of the ground!"

The boy was holding something in his outstretched hand, but with his aging eyes and the thick smog, he couldn't make out what it was. He extended the arm again, grasping the boy tightly by the shirt this time, to make sure he wouldn't fall, and hauled him back up to eye level. He reached his hand out, and the child placed the contents into his palm. He brought them inside the boarded-up window to look at them.

The child was talking, but he couldn't hear him. He was to distracted by what he saw. When Norma had come to visit him, years ago, he had told her that if she ever came back, to make sure it was her and not a trap or an assault, to bring him three things. Fifteen cents, a nail, and the shell of a great-great-grandfather snail. That was what was in his hand. That was what the child had brought him. The shell moved, and out curled an ancient snail, old and worn, like the rest of the house, but alive. The boy had brought more then money and trinkets- he had brought life.

"HELLO!" the child yelled, derailing his train of though.

"Oh... I'm sorry. I just... I thought no one cared about trees anymore," the old man sat the new possessions on the table.

"Well, that's me," The boy- Ted, he had a name, Ted said, his voice still panicky, "The guy who still cares."

The Once-ler thought it over, reached out, and pushed the hook downward, lowered it slowly, until the boy was sitting, safely again, on the ground.

"You want to know about trees," he mused, "About what happened to them? And why they're all gone?" How could he tell that story? How could he explain everything he had done- everything he had destroyed- to a child? "It's... it's because of me..."

"What?" The boy asked from the ground, as the last part had come out a whisper, and it was difficult to talk when you had scarring and smog in your throat. The Once-ler sighed, and pulled another lever, the one had often used in his youth to yell at people on the ground, an old-fashioned gramophone descended, and he spoke into his end, sobbing and screaming, "**IT'S BECAUSE OF ME**! And my invention- the Thneed."

The boy perked up- he knew what that was, at least. Or, so the Once-ler thought. In reality, the boy recognized it as the name of his home-town. But his interest was peaked.

The Once-ler felt himself pulled into his old sales pitch, the confidence returning to his voice, "It was an amazing product," he slid his from his neck and down his arms through the slits in the boarded-up window, "That could do the job of a thousand!"

"Wow," the boy said, and it traveled through the speaker back to the Once-ler, "That sounds cool!"

"Dam-rn," the Once-ler struggled to remember he was speaking to a child, "Right it was _cool_." He giggled to himself, mimicking the way the boy spoke, though he didn't seem to notice. He took a deep breath, tried not to cough, and remembered what he was doing. He slid the thneed back around his neck and continued, "It all started a long time ago..."


End file.
